


When the Days Are Cold

by NyxEtoile



Series: Syn and Loki Multiverse (Dark Inside AUs) [3]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dancing, F/M, Family Drama, Jötunheimr | Jotunheim, Jötunn Loki, Politics, Slow Burn, world building
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-14
Updated: 2017-07-17
Packaged: 2018-03-01 02:14:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 27
Words: 80,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2755760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NyxEtoile/pseuds/NyxEtoile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Yet another Syn/Loki AU. Featuring Jotun!Loki and Ambassador Syn.</p><hr/><p>
  <i>Laufey looked amused. “Why have you come here, little Alfan?”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Was that a trick question? Best not to over think it. Answer the question asked to you. “Odin requested I take the position of ambassador here.”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>The Jotun’s gaze flickered over to Odin briefly before returning to her. “Why did you accept?”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>There were several things Syn could have said. Diplomatic things that would be technically true, if not the whole truth. But Odin had said to be blunt and her parents weren’t here to be offended. “It was preferable to going home to be fitted for a wedding gown I don’t want to some man I didn’t choose.”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Laufey huffed out a breath she thought was probably surprise. Odin didn’t react at all. She wondered if he’d already known. Frigga might have told him. Or he might have surmised it himself. In court it was generally best to assume the kings knew everything that went on.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“This will be interesting,” Laufey said finally, straightening to his full height. “I accept your appointment, Odin Allfather, and will offer her the hospitality of my realm.”</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This one is a labor of love, guys. (Well, I guess they're all labors of love, but this one... so much world building. *whimpers*) 
> 
> Posts Sundays. There is a planned sequel.

_I find myself at loose ends most days. Frigga has begun to hint she has no more to teach me and I expect my time in Asgard is nearing an end. I can’t imagine going back home. I don’t know what I’ll do with myself then. Plan parties with Mama? Read and sew and wait for Papa to tell me who to marry?_  
 _My brothers and Thor go off and have adventures. No one expects them to do what they’re told. They aren’t shuffled from palace to ballroom to hunting lodge, with no expectations but to look pretty and docile. I know my mother’s duties as queen are important and complex and she does them well, working behind the scenes of my father’s rule. But that will never be my role. I know it’s petty to complain. I’m privileged above so many others and have seen wonders. I should be content._  
 _But still, is it so wrong to long for my own adventure?_

\-- Excerpt from the personal diary of her royal highness, the Princess Syn the Truthful of Alfheim, only daughter of Hoenir the Honest

* * *

Syn stood in the private study of the king of Asgard, back against the smooth stone wall, and watched her father and the man she thought of as a kind but distant uncle, argue about her future in loud, bombastic voices. They had been going at it for over half an hour. Her father was properly red in the face and Odin Allfather, king of the realms, had been reduced to almost childish sarcasm. In her years in the Asgard court she’d seen dozens of arguments like this one. It was an excellent example of how the average person did not, in fact, want to see how their rulers lived and worked. The comparison to sausage making was entirely valid.

Her father slammed his hand on a nearby table for the. . . fifth time, if she was counting correctly. “She is an innocent girl, with no political experience. You cannot toss her into the deep end of the ocean and expect her to swim to shore.”

She leaned towards the woman she considered a second mother to her and whispered, “Do you think they remember I can hear them?”

Queen Frigga laughed softly, under her breath. “I’m confident at this point they can no longer hear each other, let alone remember who else is in the room.”

“Perhaps with more time, they’ll forget what they’re fighting about entirely.”

The queen laughed again. “We can only hope.” She looked at Syn in that quiet, thoughtful way she had. “What do you think of it?”

Syn blew out a breath. When Odin had first announced his decision her reaction had been shock and not a little bit of panic. But now that she’d had forty minutes of old men arguing to think it over and she was feeling the first stirrings of excitement. Since she was a little girl, she’d dreamed of adventure. She’d wanted to be the knight slaying the dragons, not the girl in the tower waiting to be saved. It had vexed her brothers to no end that she refused to play the damsel.

Now here was her chance. No dragon to slay, not literally, anyway. But there would be danger and strange lands. A chance to prove her strength, her courage. It was probably a terrible reason to agree to anything. Now that she thought about it, it was a very Thor reason to do something. But she trusted Odin not to put her at risk. And she trusted herself to rise to the challenge.

So, after a moment to check in with her gut, she told Frigga, “I’d like to do it.”

The other woman smiled widely. “I thought as much.” She stepped forward, towards the still bickering men. She stopped an arm’s length from them and waited patiently, hands folded before her. After a moment the kings noticed her and slowly stopped speaking, turning to look at her.

She smiled brightly, as if to reward them for their attention. “Syn has agreed to take the position.”

Her father whirled to look at her where she still stood against the wall. “Syn, no.”

His words sounded more like a plea than an order, which surprised her. She stepped away from the wall and said gently. “It’s my life, Papa. I want to be useful.”

“You can be useful at home,” he protested. 

The funny thing was, he probably believed it. “Not like I would be there. And it wouldn’t be forever. Think of how much I could learn.”

Papa sighed and Syn could see the instant he gave in. He turned and pointed at Odin. “I’ll hold you personally responsible for her safety.”

The Allfather looked quite proud of himself. “I would expect nothing less.” He stepped towards her and clapped a hand on her shoulder and she thought some of the pride might have been for her. “Congratulations. Tomorrow I’ll send word to Laufey. There’s a new ambassador to Jotunheim.”

Behind Odin, Syn saw her father put his hands on his hips and look skyward. “What am I going to tell your mother?”

*

Loki knew there was new gossip long before he knew the content of it. Nothing short of a truly juicy scandal could get all of his elder sisters together in one room for so long. He hadn’t heard any shrieking, name calling or sounds of battle from their parlor and to the best of his knowledge all four of them had been in there for over an hour. He was curious enough to venture forth from his study and slip down the hall to eavesdrop. Hovering outside the door like a hanger-on was somewhat beneath the dignity of the crowned prince of Jotunheim. But the alternative was asking directly and he was in no mood to deal with his sisters en masse at the moment.

To his dismay, they were currently discussing the gown Jaida was having made for the upcoming spring festival. Upcoming being a rather loose term for an event still weeks in the making. But if having six sisters had taught him anything it was that gowns took an eon to make and a second age to get fitted properly. He thanked the gods for his competent tailor.

A small shadow appeared at his side and he looked down to find Mashira, the second youngest, looking up at him. Not quite of age yet, though clever beyond her years, she hadn’t been invited into the ladies parlor yet. She still tended to know everything that was going on in the palace at any given time.

“Are you skulking?” she asked him.

He straightened, puffing his chest out a little. “No. I’m eavesdropping. It’s entirely different.”

Mashira tilted her head to catch a few sentences, then looked at him askance. “Found a sudden interest in formal wear?”

Loki grit his teeth. They were full blooded siblings, so it shouldn’t surprise him when she was as smart and dry witted as he was. Still, no one liked to be bested by their little sister. “They were discussing palace gossip earlier. I was curious as to what held their interest for so long.”

“Oh, that.” She shrugged. “I was probably about the new ambassador.”

His brow furrowed. “New ambassador? From where?”

“Asgard,” a voice said behind him.

Loki’s shoulders sunk even as Mashira’s eyes grew large. He turned to face the speaker.

Jana, twin to Jaida-of-the-new-gown. They were next oldest above him - his mother had already been heavy with him when they were birthed - and while they’d all three been raised together the twins had always had a stronger bond than any of the rest of them could manage. They finished each other’s sentences and sometimes seemed to not have to speak at all. They were usually plotting or scheming something, often to the embarrassment of Loki. He’d long ago decided to treat such machinations as expressions of love, in the interest of family harmony.

 “A new Asgardian ambassador?” he prompted her politely.

“Yes,” Jana said with obvious delight. “A woman. Princess of one of the other realms.”

A female ambassador was rare, though not unheard of. Though Loki thought the last thing this palace needed was more women. Jana seemed to be tickled purple over it, so he offered, “An unusual choice.”

His sister laughed brightly, a sound like tinkling wind chimes. “Unusual? Have you seen Asgardian women? Thin skinned, warm blooded weaklings. She’ll scarcely come up to my bodice. You’ll be able to use her as an arm rest.” She shook her head. “I don’t know why they keep sending these poor fools here. Father should refuse to accept her.”

Loki was fairly certain Laufey wasn’t going to deny Odin his choice of ambassador. Their father might be willing to cross the Allfather on a variety of things, but a female ambassador was hardly a hill worth dying on. Not to mention the suggestion might get one or all of his wives angry with him. Jana just liked to fuss about things. A life without drama wasn’t worth living to Jana.

“Perhaps she’ll be an interesting play thing for you,” he offered.

Jana grinned widely, then seemed to notice Mashira for the first time. Loki braced in anticipation of defending his little sister from a tease, but all Jana said was, “Do you want to come in and have your hair braided?”

Mashira’s eyes widened comically, but she managed to nod and Jana stepped back so the younger woman could step into the parlor. She was greeted by a chorus of hellos and coos and Loki couldn’t fight a smile.

He gave Jana a little nod of gratitude and she shrugged before turning her back to him and joining the other women. Deciding the others would protect Mashira from any of the twins’ worst tricks, he went off to find his mother.

Maiza, first and most beloved of Laufey’s wives, generally kept her court in a high ceilinged parlor near the king’s throne room. Loki he found her there, as expected, seated in her plump cushioned chair with her embroidery, two handmaids seated at her sides with their own sewing projects. All three looked up when he entered and his mother smiled.

“Ah, my favorite son,” she said, tipping her face up for a kiss.

He pecked her cheek obediently. “By the oddest coincidence, also your only son.”

“Well, I did it so well the first time, I didn’t need another.”

As always, it was impossible to be in a foul mood while in the room with his mother. He took a seat on the ottoman at her feet, stretching his legs out as he settled. “I heard the most interesting rumor just now.”

She looked down at her sewing again. “Is it about Jaina’s dress? Because I have reached my limit on hearing about that monstrosity.”

“No. It was regarding a new ambassador from the warmer realms.”

Now she glanced up. “Ah, yes. The princess. She’s to arrive at the end of the week.”

“Do you know her?” he asked, curiosity urging him on.

“I’ve never met her, though I have met her parents, when Laufey and I were married. The king and queen of Alfheim. The man was a bit of a blowhard and the woman a bit spineless. They’ve three children and this is their only daughter. I feel a bit bad for the girl, being used as a pawn in her father and Odin’s machinations.”

He tipped his head back, studying the ornate chandelier above him. “Why would they send some sheltered princess here? Last I checked we were still considered somewhat hostile.”

“Oh, well. Alfan royals have a special trick up their sleeves. They can’t lie. And they read the lies of others on their faces.” She laughed a little at the look he gave her. “I imagine they think we’ll find her trustworthy. It’s a political move, but a smart one. As I said, I just feel bad for the pawn.”

“How do you know she’s a pawn?”

Maiza gave him a sympathetic look. “Darling, really. You know what they think of us. Can you imagine one of them would come here voluntarily?”

*

“Are you _sure_ about this, love? We can tell Odin no. He likes to claim he’s infallible, but he really can be denied.”

Syn braced her hands on the edge of her trunk and glanced upwards, digging deep into her soul for patience. She loved her mother, she really did. She’d taught her a great many things about being a woman and a princess. Her mother didn’t have a head for politics, not the way Frigga did, but she could run a ballroom the way a general ran a battlefield and her organizational skills would put the best quartermaster in the realms to shame. So she knew _why_ she was trying to talk her out of going to Jotunheim. But by the tree, did the fussing get tiresome.

“I had a chance to say no, Mama, and I said yes. I would appreciate it if you respected that choice.” It was said in the quietest, calmest tone she was capable of.

“But it’s Jotunheim. Who knows what might happen to you? The last ambassador _died_ over there.”

Shaking her head, Syn walked over to her wardrobe to examine her dresses. Technically, her maids could have done this. But she’d be doing without said servants in Jotunheim and might as well get used to it now. “The last ambassador was well over five thousand years old with gout in his legs. He died peacefully in his bed. You make it sound as if he was assassinated.”

Her mother didn’t respond, probably too busy wringing her hands, so Syn regarded her dresses critically. Her winter clothes options were extensive, Alheim had long, cold winters. She considered that something in her favor. Perhaps the unending winter of Jotunheim wouldn’t be so bad. Still, what little she knew of the realm was that it was rough and barren land, so some of her more elaborate gowns would almost certainly be impractical.

She was carefully pulling out two heavy wool dresses when her mother said softly, “I’m going to miss you so much.”

Syn turned back to her, laying the gowns over the edge of her trunk on her way to joining her mother on her bed. “I know. I’ll miss you, too.”

Her mother sniffled, dabbing her eyes daintily with an embroidered handkerchief. “It’s silly, you were in Asgard for decades and I was all right. I missed you, but it wasn’t. . . It seems farther away.”

“It won’t be forever.” Syn put her hand on her mother’s shoulder and rubbed gently. “And I’m sure I’ll be able to come visit.” She didn’t bother suggesting her parents go visit her in Jotunheim.

“I just thought when you were done learning with Frigga you’d come home. Settle down. There’s several lords who would have asked for your hand.”

Syn sighed deeply. She’d never be able to explain to her mother how very much that didn’t appeal to her. “It won’t be forever,” she repeated, feeling tired.

That time seemed to get through and her mother brightened a little. “That’s true. And you are still young.” She gave Syn a soft smile. “You always did have an adventurous spirit.”

“Yes. At least this one is politically sanctioned.” She gave her mother a little squeeze and kissed her cheek. “Now. Will you please help me pack?”


	2. Chapter 2

_When being introduced to royalty or lesser nobility certain etiquette must be observed. Keep hands in sight at all times; folded in front of ones self is preferred. Men should bow or kneel depending on the difference in status between himself and the other. Women should curtsy, remembering to keep back straight and perpendicular to the ground. A bent back shows lack of proper training and breeding. Eyes should cast down briefly and then raise back to the person being greeted._  
\-- Excerpt from _Courtly Manners and Courtesy_

Syn said goodbye to her parents on Alfheim in the interest of shortening the ordeal. Her mother wept prettily and her father gave her a speech worthy of a man sending his son off to war. But neither of them frantically announced that no, she was not allowed to go and tried to hustle her back to her safe little room in her safe little palace on their safe little realm.

The Bifrost took her to Jotunheim in a blaze of light and color. Odin met her there so he could introduce her to the Jotun court properly. He was in his traditional black and red armor, complete with helm. She’d seen it often while in Asgard training with Frigga. Asgardians loved their armor. She wore one of her prettier winter gowns, one of heavy silk brocade with fur trim, as well as her favorite winter cloak.

Jotunheim was grey and windswept, dominated by imposing geological formations of stone and ice. The air was bitterly cold and cut through her clothes, stinging her exposed skin. She hissed a little, tugging her cloak tighter around herself. How on earth did anything live in this realm? Alfan winters had nothing on this.

Odin gave her a once-over that managed to be sympathetic and calculating at the same time. “Are you ready, girl?” he asked gently.

“No,” she admitted, the ugly truth easier than thinking of a pretty half-truth. “But frostbite is likely to get me before I am, so let’s be on with it.”

He chuckled a little and nodded, heading towards a series of what might be stone pillars. She followed a few steps behind him, hands tucked into the opposite sleeves of her cloak, head down to protect her cheeks from the biting wind.

They were, indeed, pillars. Neatly lined up in two rows, with an area of carved stone between them. It was reminiscent of the Great Hall at Asgard, but even more open air. Asgard loved to let nature in, whereas Alfan was far more compartmentalized. Oh, her mother would have the gardeners clip bouquets and the like to brighten up the rooms, but there were no rooms open at two walls or without ceilings. 

Oh, it was too early to be thinking homesick thoughts. She hadn’t even met the king yet.

He sat at the end of the pillars, in a big stone throne that didn’t look like it had stairs leading up to it. She wondered how on earth he got there. Well, they were called frost giants, maybe he was tall enough to just haul himself up. It was hard to tell how big he was seated, but she was sure he would tower over her, and Odin as well.

Odin stopped a few yards from the base of the rock the throne was carved into and she took her place to his right and a few paces behind him. She slid her hands from her cloak slowly and folded them in front of her, so the Jotun king could see she was unarmed. It meant her hands would probably redden and chap from the cold, and it was really more nicety than actual reassurance - magic users were always armed, after all - but it was the proper etiquette for such an introduction. It was entirely possible that Jotuns had different customs for introductions, but as she didn’t know what they were she stuck with what had been drilled into her from childhood.

“Laufey.” Odin greeted the other king politely, but with none of the warmth he did the other realm leaders.

“Allrather,” the Jotun replied, drawing the word out like a blade from a sheath. “Have you brought me an ambassador? Or a snack?”

Odin gave a sigh that was on the edge of exasperated, so she kept her back straight and didn’t flinch at the implied threat. Her father thought he was funny, too. “Have a care, Laufey,” Odin said. “She’s Hoenir’s daughter and he’s none too happy about her new position.”

“I know who she is,” Laufey said, turning his red gaze to her. Syn continued not flinching. “But you may make the formal introductions, if it will make you feel useful.”

Syn wondered a bit at the relationship between the two men. Odin and her father were friends. The king of Vanaheim had visited a few times in her presence and they seemed cordial, if not overly close. Everything she’d heard about dealings between Jotunheim and Asgard indicated Odin and Laufey respected each other as realm rulers, though there was nothing resembling friendship between them. Centuries ago, they had come very close to war and had managed to come to some sort of truce at the eleventh hour, preventing what would surely been a great loss of life. So surely there had to be some sort of positive feeling between them. Men who only hated each other couldn’t have come to an agreement.

Odin didn’t look offended, at any rate. Maybe Laufey had been joking, in some subtle, understated way. “May I present her highness, Princess Syn the Truthful of Alfheim, daughter and second child of Hoenir the Honest. My newly appointed ambassador to your realm.”

Laufey stood and stepped down from the throne. He was, in fact, tall enough to do that. He came closer and Syn was forced to tip her head back to see him face. He bent, ever so slightly, to peer at her better. “An Alfan,” he murmured. “Clever choice.” His eyes caught hers. “There’s little of your father in you, Syn the Truthful.”

“I favor my mother in appearance, your majesty,” she replied. She was extremely proud of how steady and calm her voice was. “Though she would be the first to assure you all my more aggravating personality traits were passed down paternally.”

Next to her, Odin smirked, and she wondered if that was because he agreed with her mother or was amused at her boldness. He had taken her aside, right after announcing he would be appointing her ambassador, and told her not to be afraid of speaking her mind to Laufey. 

_”I’m sending you in part because of your curse. Truth breeds trust, which is something in short supply between us and the frost giants. I know you can play the political game as well as anyone, even without the ability to lie. Don’t play it with Laufey. He prefers bluntness.”_

Currently, Laufey looked more amused than trustful. “Why have you come here, little Alfan?”

Was that a trick question? Best not to over think it. Answer the question asked to you. “Odin requested I take the position of ambassador here.”

The Jotun’s gaze flickered over to Odin briefly before returning to her. “Why did you accept?”

There were several things she could have said. Diplomatic things that would be technically true, if not the whole truth. But Odin had said to be blunt and her parents weren’t here to be offended. “It was preferable to going home to be fitted for a wedding gown I don’t want to some man I didn’t choose.”

Laufey huffed out a breath she thought was probably surprise. Odin didn’t react at all. She wondered if he’d already known. Frigga might have told him. Or he might have surmised it himself. In court, it was generally best to assume the kings knew everything that went on.

“This will be interesting,” Laufey said finally, straightening to his full height. “I accept your appointment, Odin Allfather, and will offer her the hospitality of my realm.”

“Thank you, Laufey Leforeson.”  
 “Say your goodbyes,” the Jotun king ordered, stepping away from them to offer privacy.

Syn turned to Odin, uncertain what to say. She wanted to hug him, as she suspected he would be the last friendly face or touch she would see for some time. It didn’t seem appropriate for an ambassador to do such a thing. She settled for saying, “Give Frigga my best, please.”

“Of course.” He reached out and placed a big, warm hand on her shoulder, giving it a little shake and squeeze, as he might have given Thor before sending him off on one of his adventures. “You’ll do just fine,” he told her, voice quiet and oddly paternal. “Do as you’re doing and don’t forget who you are. They’ll be no match for you.”

She smiled and blinked a few times. If she cried the tears would just freeze on her face and that was never comfortable. “Thank you, your majesty.”

“Come along, princess,” Laufey called from beside the throne rock. He hissed the double ‘s’ a little more than necessary.

Odin squeezed her shoulder again before letting his hand drop. “Write to Frigga so she knows I’ve not sent you to your death.”

“Of course.” She gave a sharp nod and he managed a small smile and she turned away, walking towards Laufey. She kept her head high and didn’t glance back, though she could feel Odin watching her.

Laufey waited until she had almost reached him, before turning away and leading her around the rocks. She tucked her hands back in her cloak as the wind picked up again. She realized she had no idea what Jotuns lived in. Caves? Huts? How on earth did they stay warm enough? Though based on the loose slacks and lack of shirt Laufey had on, perhaps the cold had no real effect on them. That probably didn’t bode well for her.

Behind the rock there was a fissure in the cliff wall. Laufey passed through it with ease and when she followed she was greeted with a wide, sweeping staircase leading down into the earth.

“Watch your step, princess,” he advised, already a dozen steps down. “I hope you’re wearing practical shoes and not those dainty slippers you Aesir seem to like.”

She was, in fact, wearing sturdy boots with proper tread on the soles. She wasn’t a moron. Pointing that out would likely come off as whiny and rude, so she simply gathered up her skirt in semi-numb fingers and followed him down the stairs. He glanced back when he heard her start down and she thought she saw the faintest hint of a smile curl his mouth.

It grew warmer as they travelled downwards and her fingers and cheeks pricked with pain as the nerves woke back up. It wasn’t exactly a summer day at the fair, but she could probably shed her cloak whenever they got where they were going.

The stair case ended in what looked like a small foyer and a huge set of double doors. Of course, everything here was going to seem huge to her, she supposed. Laufey pushed the doors open and stepped back, gesturing for her to go first. She inclined her head politely and stepped past him.

Into an enormous hall the likes of which she’d never seen. It dwarfed the Great Hall of Asgard as well as the ball room and throne room at home. It stretched before her as far as she could see, lined with pillars. Other halls and rooms shot off on both sides and Jotuns moved through them, some rushing, some dawdling. Braziers dotted the walls and when she looked up she saw the ceiling boasted several chandeliers made of exquisite crystals of various colors. The overall effect was breathtaking.

Two servants stepped forward to drape what looked like a fur lined robe over Laufey’s shoulders. He was watching Syn’s awed expression with a very satisfied smile. “Show the new ambassador her quarters,” he said to one of the robe bringers. “Her trunks should already be there.”

Syn looked up at him, not bothering to hide her surprise. Her trunks already stowed and a room assigned to her. He’d been planning to accept her appointment from the beginning. So had the conversation with Odin been politics? Posturing? Or perhaps she was reading too much into it. There were certain ceremonies and rituals that needed to be observed, no matter what the participants thought of them. And, she supposed, he could have sent her away if he’d found her unsuitable. Trunks weren’t hard to move.

Some of her thoughts might have shown on her face, because his smile grew slightly. “Welcome to Jotunheim, Ambassador,” he said, then, with a nod, he left her with the waiting servants.

*

Loki waited until his father had lead the new ambassador to the other side of the throne before stepping out of his hiding place. The outdoor court had dozens of hidden niches one could use to observe goings on with little chance of being noticed. He was unsurprised when Muru and Jana slipped out of similar posts and moved to meet him in the spot Odin and the princess had only recently stood.

The Asgardian king had been swept up by the light of the Bifrost as soon as Laufey and the girl had gone out of sight. The stone they stood on had an intricate pattern left by the bridge.

“The new ambassador has heart,” Muru said, glancing at the throne as if to ensure their father and the girl hadn’t returned.

“She had a mouth,” Jana retorted, obviously less enamored with the princess.

“Afraid of the competition?” Muru replied sweetly. Jana glared at her. “Father likes honesty, she was smart to not prevaricate.”

“She had no choice,” Loki said, arms crossed over his chest. “Alfan royals can’t lie.”

His sisters both turned to look at him. “Why not?”

There was some sort of legend about an awful ancestor and a curse too powerful for its own good. The full explanation would likely make his sisters’ eyes glaze over so he just said, “Magic.”

Jana huffed out a breath. “ _How_ do you know these things?”

He didn’t bother stifling a sigh. “I _read_.”

“She seemed so young,” Muru said, glancing towards the hidden stair again. “Mashira’s age or even younger.”

“Aesir are tiny.” Jana sounded dismissive. “She’s Loki’s age, more or less.” He looked at her in surprise and she smiled at him, showing teeth. “I have my own sources, little brother.”

“Hmph.” Jana cared as much for realm politics as he did for women’s fashion. Jaida had probably told her. If the girl was his age she was theirs, too. Maybe they’d been forced to play together when they were little. 

Muru twined her arms through his, stroking her fingers over his forearm in a soothing gesture. “What did you think of her, Loki?”

He thought she’d been cold and frightened and completely out of her depth and done her best to hide it all while being used as a pawn by two battle scarred kings in their unending war of wills. He thought Laufey had probably seen through it as well and that, more than her bluntness, had impressed him. He thought that no matter now miserable and lonely she got here her pride would probably not let her give up. 

And he thought that the men in Alfheim must be truly abhorrent if being sent here was preferable to marrying one of them.

“I think it’s too early to tell her true character,” he said finally, because none of that was really what his sisters wanted to hear. Then added, because it would give them something to twitter about in their parlor later, “And I look forward to learning more.”

The women exchanged a significant look, as he’d intended. He didn’t think laying claim to the ambassador would hold the sisters off completely. But it might slow them down long enough for the Alfan to find her feet a bit. Once the daughters of Laufey had focused their joint attention on a person there was no dissuading them. He had seen them ruin courtiers with only a few choice words whispered in the right gossips ears. The Alfan didn’t stand a chance if they decided they didn’t like her.

His father had almost certainly reached the bottom of the stairs and handed the girl off to servants, so Loki headed towards the secret steps. Muru kept hold of his arm and Jana fell into step behind them. “Perhaps you’ll get a chance to talk to her at the welcoming banquet tonight,” Muru offered.

He waited before replying, but Jana didn’t add anything. Either she was uncharacteristically hiding her cards or did not plan on playing her games at the banquet. He supposed even Jana was polite enough to wait a full day before pouncing. 

“Perhaps,” he conceded to Muru. They reached the stairs and his sister released him to walk down unassisted. Loki wondered how the Alfan had managed on the sometimes treacherous descent. Gods knew Laufey would not have offered her a hand. She wouldn’t have asked, and they didn’t find a broken body at the bottom, so he supposed she’d managed just fine.

He pecked Muru’s cheek and nodded to Jana before taking his leave in the Great Hall. He wasn’t entirely sure of his destination until he found himself in his mother’s parlor.

She was reading this time and closed and put away her book when he sank onto the cushions near her feet. She stroked his hair with long, gentle fingers. “What troubles my son? Did the greeting of the ambassador go poorly?”

“No. Father behaved himself well enough. As did Odin.”

“And the girl?”

If she was his age he should probably start getting offended on her behalf at being called ‘girl.’ No one would dare call him boy, after all. But her height and slim build did lend her an air of youth. 

“She’s alone and surrounded by monsters,” he said tersely. “I expect she’s crying in her quarters as we speak.”

Maiza laughed a little. “I don’t think you give the Alfan enough credit. She agreed to come here, to live among us as an emissary. One doesn’t do that for people they consider monsters.”

“The old ambassador thought of us as such.” The old fool never said it to anyone’s face, of course. But palace walls had ears, especially the ones in Jotunheim.

“He was, indeed, old and fought Jotuns in his youth. Odin used him as a reminder to your father of the prejudice that still remained. The girl was born after the treaty. Hers is a different message.”

Loki tipped his head back to look at her. “What message is that?”

His mother smiled. “I think she’s a peace offering. A girl who can’t lie, coming of her own free will, with her eyes wide open. I think Odin knows we’re all growing old and that your generation will soon be the ones ruling. I think he wishes to start that shift with openness and peace.” She lifted a shoulder in a negligent shrug. “Your father looks for a trap, a trick. He can’t trust an open palm when it’s offered. Always assumes the dagger is simply in the other hand. Time will tell.” She twined a lock of Loki’s hair around her finger. “The truth may lie somewhere in between.”

He turned that over in his mind, wondering if the girl - now he was doing it - if the ambassador knew what she was being used for. He’d heard her speak four sentences, not nearly enough to gauge her intelligence. Still, he doubted she was stupid. Odin certainly wasn’t, he wouldn’t have sent someone into their lion’s den who couldn’t defend herself. So she likely had some idea of her larger role in the eternal game the realm leaders played.

“Seat me next to her at the banquet?” he requested. His mother was the first and prized wife, she’d have final say on such things

Maiza’s eyes were unreadable. “Do you want to sit next to her so you can ferret out her true purpose? Or because you’re curious?”

He didn’t point out the two motivations were not mutually exclusive. “Curiosity.”

“Careful, love. Curiosity killed the cat.”

“Satisfaction brought him back,” he replied, almost before she’d finished speaking. It was an old word play, one they’d engaged in since he was a small child clinging to her skirts. He got to his feet, assuming the jest meant he’d won.

“And will one conversation with the girl give you satisfaction?” his mother asked as he crossed the room.

He stopped at the doorway, trying to recall the last time he’d felt satisfied. The last time he hadn’t felt as if there was something missing. Some thing he should be reaching for. The last time he’d wanted nothing more out of life than the moment he was living. 

Nothing came to mind.

“It will be a start,” he told her finally and strode from the parlor.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the late chapter. I had a little medical emergency tonight.

_Once upon a time, there was a girl who loved to go for walks in the woods. Her mother would warn her of the dangers to be found amongst the trees. Of the wolves with their sharp teeth and clever tongues. But the girl would laugh and kiss her mother’s cheek and go off into the woods as she pleased._  
 _One day, when she lay by a cool, bubbling stream a wolf crept out of the trees. Immediately, she sat up and said “Wolf, what are you doing? Do you plan to eat me?”_  
 _The wolf made a noise that might have been a laugh. “No, fair one. I sought only to give you this.” And he produced a plump, juicy peach which the girl took, thanked him for and ate eagerly._  
\- Excerpt from The Girl and the Wolf, a traditional Alfan fairy tale

Generally speaking, Loki avoided state functions like a raging blaze. He rarely escaped them entirely, his mother had figured out all his common hiding places a long time ago and Mashira knew the rest of them, but he tried to arrive late and leave early. His mother liked to remind him that a time would come when he would need to host them himself, along with whatever spouse he took. But, gods willing, that was a long time coming. If Tanet, the god of Luck was with him, his bride would be a consummate hostess and take care of everything, the way his mother and the others did. Laufey probably hadn’t known he was hosting a banquet until Maiza, Raifa, and Jun had steered him into the hall.

When Loki arrived, the rest of the family had already taken their seats and the rest of the guests were slowly making their way to their tables. There were seven tables arranged in a half circle. His father and mother sat at the center, key stone table, with the highest ranked nobles and advisors. To the right of their table he spotted the ambassador, her odd hair glinting in the lamp light. His mother, bless her, had sat Muru and Ruwa at the table with them, as well as two junior advisors and their spouses. The Twins were at the table on the other side of the king’s, with their mother and Raifa. Jana was casting regular glances at the other table but Loki doubted she could hear anything from that distance.

As he approached, he could hear Muru speaking animatedly with the ambassador. She smiled and looked up as he reached the table. “Loki. Syn and I were discussing the challenge of balancing fashion with body temperature.

The Alfan looked up at him in surprise and started to scramble, as if to stand. The banquet tables were long and low, with diners seated on plump pillows. For one not used to them getting up could be an undignified affair, especially in a gown.

Without thinking it through, he reached down and put a hand on her shoulder to still her. “You don’t have to stand.”

She froze under his grip. He could feel the heat of her even through the layers of fabric she wore. Beneath it, she felt small and daintily made. His fingers splayed down to her collar bone. It felt frail and easily broken. Had she been one of his sisters, he’d have used his grip to balance as he sank down to his cushion. As he feared that would snap her in two, he snatched his hand back and took his seat on the pillow to her right.

Muru was giving him a look he couldn’t interpret. When he raised questioning brows at her she shook her head in exasperation and turned back to the Alfan. “My brother has the manners of a bilgesnipe, I apologize on his behalf.”

“It’s all right,” she said quietly. Loki looked at her and realized he’d likely offended or frightened her. In retrospect, grabbing her when they hadn’t even been introduced had probably been a stupid thing to do. He was too used to keeping company with his family, the error hadn’t occurred to him.

He cast a panicked look at his sister, who shook her head again. “Syn, may I present Loki Laufeyson, crowned prince of Jotunheim. Loki, meet Syn the Truthful of Alfheim, our new ambassador.” He admired Muru’s ability to say it all with a straight face, as if everyone in the room wasn’t well aware of who she was.

Syn turned to him and extended an awkward hand. “Your highness.”

He should have waited before sitting so he could bow to her properly. Oh, how he longed for the ability to turn back time. Well, his mother hadn’t drilled manners and etiquette into him for nothing. He’d been told he had a certain amount of charm when he put his mind to it. Time to put his mind to it.

He took her hand, bringing it up to brush a kiss over her knuckles. “Loki, please, my lady. Only advisors trying to impress me call me your highness.”

She gifted him with a small, but genuine smile. He imagined a kiss to the hand was one of the first familiar things she’d experienced today. “Syn will do just fine, as well.”

Muru was now smiling at him proudly, so he assumed he’d dug his way out of that hole properly. “Now,” he said, aiming the words at his sister. “Fashion and body temperature?”

“Syn feels the cold a bit more than us.”

He looked down at her again and finally registered the fact she was quite bundled up. For formal events such as this women typically wore skirts and bodices, usually with a bit of stomach and back showing, as well as bare arms to show off bracelets and arm bands. Muru’s left forearm was currently glinting with silver lightning bolts and Jana had a set of copper snakes she adored.

“I’m sure I’ll acclimate soon,” Syn said, sounding vaguely embarrassed, as if she had any control over her temperature.

“Your dress is lovely,” his sister Ruwa said from Syn’s other side. Ruwa generally preferred books or studying to fashion or socializing. Either the ambassador had been too interesting to avoid or her mother had strong armed her into it. She did sound genuinely intrigued when she pointed to the Alfan’s hand and added, “And you color your nails?”

Syn flexed her hand and he saw her nails were lacquered gold. “Oh, yes. It’s very much in vogue in Alfheim.” She looked at Ruwa’s hand and pointed to one of her nails, a slightly darker blue than the rest of her skin. “I have some that might show on yours. A deep purple or even the right red?” It was said very hesitantly, as if she was concerned she would offend his sister.

But Ruwa grinned brightly. “That might be fun.” She shared a conspiratorial glance with Loki. “Jaida would be beside herself if I started a trend before her.”

Loki and Muru both chuckled at the thought and Syn looked between the three of them before asking. “Who is Jaida?”

“Our sister,” Muru told her. “She’s. . . very concerned with fashion.”

“Vain,” Loki offered. “The word you’re looking for is vain.”

His oldest sister waved a hand at him “Don’t badmouth her before Syn has had a chance to meet her. Let her form her own bad opinions of her.”

They all laughed at that, even the Alfan, who seemed far better at ease than she had when he’d sat down. Perhaps he was superfluous here, Muru was far better suited to welcoming someone with small talk.

“How many siblings do you have?” Syn asked, seemingly to whichever of them wanted to answer.

“Laufey has seven children,” Muru said. “Loki is the only boy.”

Syn turned to him. “Surrounded by girls?”

“Four above and two below,” he confirmed. “You cannot imagine the torment.”

“Oh, I have an older and a younger brother, I can imagine a great deal.”

He felt himself smile as Ruwa said. “Only three of you?”

Syn turned back to her. She was going to pull something in her neck if the conversation stayed this lively. “Yes. Large families aren’t very common on Alfheim. I’ve never heard of a woman with seven children.”

“Well, three women,” Muru said.

Loki saw the Alfan’s brow furrow and she glanced between them again, the uncertainty returned. Muru seemed to realize the problem the same moment he did, but he spoke first. “Multiple spouses are a tradition on Jotunheim.”

Syn blinked rapidly at him a moment, obviously speechless. It hadn’t occurred to him that she hadn’t known. He could only imagine what it sounded like to someone without such traditions. “It’s common, then?” she asked finally, managing to sound politely curious and not accusatory.

He shrugged easily. “Common is a relative term. It’s found more in the higher classes but even then some choose not to. It’s a choice, like marrying at all.”

She nodded thoughtfully and seemed to scan the room with new eyes. “Is it only men with multiple women or-”

“No, no,” Muru added. “Women may take multiple husbands. Or wives. And men can have as many husbands as they wish.”

“Are you raised by your mother alone? Or is it a joint effort?” The polite inquiry had taken on a bit of eagerness but still no judgement. Loki was starting to think his mother was correct, that the new ambassador had no ulterior motive. And that was almost more interesting than if she had.

The discussion on group child rearing and finding an Aesir equivalent to the Jotun word for “parent who is not my blood relation but still helped raise me,” lasted until the food arrived. Overflowing serving platters lined the center of the table, almost blocking the view of the diners on the other side. There was a pause while they waited for Laufey to be served, then the room was filled with the sound of utensils clinking and the quiet murmur of polite give and take as people passed plates and exclaimed over the food.

Loki filled his own plate, not waiting for his sister to do it for him, as was technically the custom. Most of his sisters would either laugh or serve him the worst parts of the meal if he insisted on such a thing, anyway. He noticed Syn eyeing the food with the same expression Mashira got when their mother was trying to get her to try a new food. He felt a faint pang of sympathy for her. Had he been dumped rather unceremoniously in the middle of Asgard or Alfheim he imagined his patience for the strange and unfamiliar would end at unrecognizable food. Food was supposed to be a comfort, shared with friends and family. It was nourishment and pleasure. To be surrounded by strangers and offered strange food on top of it must be so isolating. So, despite the fact it went against several rules of dining etiquette, he reached over to serve her a few things.

“This is river fish,” he told her quietly. “I imagine fish is fish wherever you go. Ruwa’s about to hand you the bread basket. Take the darker rolls, they’re sweeter and heavy, but the texture is less offensive. The dish by your left hand is root vegetables mashed with cheese and cream.” He spotted Mashira’s favorite food and ladled a large scoop onto one side of the Alfan’s plate. “I suppose you’d call it fruit salad.” She was eyeing it with more than a bit of skepticism. “My little sister is the pickiest eater in the realms and she’ll down a bowlful of it without a thought,” he offered. “My mother claims it’s the only reason she hasn’t starved.”

That earned him a little smile. She curled her small, gold tipped fingers around a spoon and looked up at him. “Thank you,” she said softly.

Feeling oddly ruffled at both her expression and gratitude, he gave her a curt nod and went back to his own meal. He pointedly ignored the wide grin Muru was giving him.

*

Alfan feasts were elaborate, formal affairs. Dinners were served in multiple, small courses that lasted hours. Syn had grown up learning how to pace herself, eat daintily and tolerate the taste and texture of caviar parfait. She could not have been less prepared for the Jotun banquet had she never eaten food before in her life.

 Jotun food was rich and hearty, heavily flavored with herbs and spices. On her own she would have been totally lost, but Prince Loki’s initial descriptions got her started. She was confident she wouldn’t starve, at least. The fish was buttery and flaky. The bread was a little too grainy for her taste, even the dark one he had suggested. The mashed roots were divine and like nothing she had ever had before. Her mother would have been horrified at something so lumpy and unattractive on her table. Syn had two helpings of it. And the fruit salad Loki had claimed his sister adored was, in fact, delicious. She made a mental note to find out exactly what fruits were in it so she could try them separately.

Conversation flowed easily around the table and for the most part she stayed silent. Laufey’s children seemed as friendly and welcoming as he had seemed cool and calculating. The women, at least. She still couldn’t decide what the prince thought of her. His initial reaction to her had seemed cold. She could still feel his strong, heavy hand on her shoulder, keeping her in her seat when she had thought to stand and greet him.

But then he had served her food and talked of his younger sister and his whole demeanor had changed. He hadn’t looked at her or spoken to her since, but she thought she had caught him looking at her a few times. She didn’t know him nearly well enough to read his expression. She thought, perhaps, he seemed cautious around her, though she couldn’t for the life of her think why.

Dessert was thin, flaky pastry layered with cream, fruit jam and nuts as well as a drink of dark, rich, sweet liquid enhanced by spices. She could barely make it through half the mug, it seemed to go straight to her head.

After supper was, apparently, dancing. Syn moved with the rest of the crowd into the other room. All she could see was a sea of chests and backs. On Alfheim she was tall for a woman. On Asgard she’d been above average, if slighter built. Here, she felt like a child among adults. Muru was the closest to her height and even she towered over her by several inches. Most of the men had a foot or more on her.

Well, they do call them frost _giants_. It would take getting used to, that was all. Perhaps she could get a good pair of heels. Or small stilts. Perhaps conduct all her important conversations on staircases.

Muru and Ruwa took her off to the side where others had gathered. They watched Laufey dance with his wives, one after the other. The music was reminiscent of home, lots of woodwinds and in a minor key. The dance was quite different. Alfheim prided itself on proper, courtly dances. Partners lined in rows, complicated steps, almost no touching. It was all very polite and proper, leaving plenty of room for lady’s skirts and any fretting mother’s peace of mind.

The Jotuns seemed to have no problem with skin to skin contact. Laufey held his women close as he twirled them around the dance floor, with a grace she would not have expected from a man his size or temperament. After the last of the wives had had their turn with him, the music grew more lively and other couples flooded the floor.

Syn let the conversation ebb and flow around her, as she had at dinner. She watched the dancers move, trying to learn the steps of the dances through observation. She knew almost a dozen traditional Alfan dances, despite hating the stiff formality of them. Jotun dancing seemed much freer. Dancers moved to the rhythm of the music, rather than obsessing over the exact steps. It gave the dance floor a sense of controlled chaos that she found very appealing.

“So this is the little Alfan?”

The unfamiliar voice was feminine and biting. Syn turned to see two Jotun women, both head and shoulders taller than her, and all but identical. 

In the few hours she’d been there she had been training herself to study the facial markings of the Jotuns she met. Without differences in hair and eye color to aid her, they were the best means of remembering who was who. Muru’s were softly curved over her cheeks, whereas Ruwa’s had been more pointed, running down her forehead in concentric vees.

The two women before her had markings the criss crossed over each other in intricate patterns that appeared to be virtually identical. Twins were rare, but not unheard of, on Alfheim, but she had never personally come across any. Perhaps the same was not true here.

She had no idea which one had spoken, so she addressed them both, keeping her tone and polite as possible. “I am. Syn the Truthful.” She dipped a tiny curtsey. Such formalities didn’t seem to be required here, but long trained habits died very hard.

The twins exchanged an amused look. “She’s adorable,” the one on the left said.

“So tiny,” the one on the right agreed.

“And her dress!” Left added. “Do you think she’d let Mashira use it when she’s done with it.”

Syn had grown up with boys. Her brothers, their friends. Boys were obvious in their likes and dislikes. When they wanted to bully you, they pulled your hair and knocked you down in the mud. It left bruises, but at least you know where you stood. And it was easy enough to retaliate. She’d slipped more spiders and slugs into her brother’s beds than she could count. 

Just because she didn’t play with girls as a child didn’t mean she didn’t know how they operated, however. She’d spent years at court in Alfheim and Asgard. She knew how girls bullied. Nasty words, biting tongues. Whispers behind hands that you never knew the content of but could guess.

Muru had gone off to dance and Ruwa had excused herself not long after. Syn hadn’t minded being left alone, but now she dearly wished she had an ally by her side.

Still, the twins didn’t seem to require her cooperation or even presence for their game. Perhaps a hasty retreat was the best choice. She half turned in the interest of escape and came face to face with the bare, leanly muscle chest of Prince Loki.

The formal dress for the Jotun would have shocked the more conservative members of the Alfan court. Women bared their arms, backs and bellies and the men wore their shirts mostly open. On her brief trip through the halls to and from her room she had seen more than a few completely bare chested, as Laufey had been when he’d met her on the stone throne. It was. . . distracting, to say the least. Especially considering she was eye level with said chests.

She stopped herself short before she could actually bump her nose against him, but it was a near thing. Tipping her head back, she found him glaring at the twins. 

“Jana. Jaida.” Loki’s voice was low and laced with anger. “Don’t be tiresome.” Syn bit down on a grin but didn’t have a chance to turn and gauge the reaction of the twins when he looked down at her with his bright, scarlet eyes and said, “Dance with me.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year everyone!
> 
> Today is the 1 year anniversary of the first chapter of _Demons_ being posted. So you get an extra update!
> 
> I also posted an extra, Tumblr-only story on my Tumblr. If you want to follow me it's under my handle here, NyxEtoile. I reblog MCU stuff as well as a couple other fandoms (Supernatural, Doctor Who, Once Upon a Time and a couple others) as well as stuff I find funny or interesting. I am going to make a point this year to post more sneak peaks, blog-only content and general writing updates. So if you want a better idea of what's on the horizon, check it out.
> 
> There'll be a regular Sunday update tomorrow as well.

_Though he had detected with a critical eye more than one failure of perfect symmetry in her form, he was forced to acknowledge her figure to be light and pleasing; and in spite of his asserting that her manners were not those of the fashionable world, he was caught by their easy playfulness. Of this she was perfectly unaware; to her he was only the man who made himself agreeable nowhere, and who had not thought her handsome enough to dance with._  
\- Excerpt from _Pride and Prejudice_ , an obscure Midgardian tale

For a moment, she was utterly speechless. She must have nodded, because Loki put his hand on the small of her back to guide her out to the dance floor. The weight of his hand seemed to sear her, though it wasn’t warm.

“I appreciate the rescue,” she said softly. “But I’m not sure I can do this.”

“Dancing is simple, just follow my lead.” He looked down at her sharply. “Unless you have a problem dancing with a Jotun.”

She blew out a breath. “No, though you might have a problem dancing with me.”

They had reached the dance floor and he turned to face her, arching a questioning brow. Syn sighed again and said it as quickly and bluntly as possible. “I have to tell the truth. Those who touch me are forced to do the same.”

That got his attention and she saw a moment of doubt flicker over his face. Then he reached out and took her hand, curving his other hand into the dip of her waist. “I will attempt not to share any uncomfortable state secrets if you promise not to ask any leading questions.”

People rarely handled the facts of her curse so well. In Alfheim the royal family was considered essentially untouchable save for very specific situations. Loki touched her with an ease that was entirely foreign to her.

She glanced at the other couples and put her hand on his shoulder, or rather, his bicep, as reaching up to his shoulder was slightly awkward. He squeezed her hand gently and guided her into the first turn of the dance. His hand at her waist communicated what she needed to know about turns and pace. She was a quick study and naturally graceful, so it wasn’t nearly as embarrassing as it could have been.

His arm beneath her hand was cool, skin rough. She could feel the pattern of raised markings and had to firmly resist the urge to trace them with her thumb. She was glad she was wearing an Asgardian style gown and not an Alfan one. She was still more covered than any of the Jotun women, but at least she didn’t have a full, petticoated skirt getting in the way.

Distracted as she was by the dance and his proximity, it took her a few moments to realize what she’d heard. “Jaida. . . they’re your sisters?”

“Yes,” he said, sounding grim. “Only a few months my senior.”

“They don’t seem to like me very much.” She was directing her comments at his collar bone as tipping her head all the way back to see his face seemed a bit impractical.

“Pay them no mind.” It sounded more order than advice. “Jaida will lose interest soon, once she sees you’re no threat to her social standing or status. Jana might be more trouble.”

“Any idea what I’ve done to offend her so?”

His laugh was humorless and she thought his hand tightened on her waist, pulling her ever so slightly closer. “I’ve known her my whole life and I have no idea why she acts as she does. Jana sees the world as a constant battle. I doubt even she knows what she’s fighting for.” He shifted and she felt his breath stir her hair, as if he had looked down at the top of her head. “Pay her no mind,” he repeated, softer, this time.

Almost against her will, she tipped her head back to look up and found him looking down at her. She would not have thought those strange red eyes could look kind. But that was the only word she had for what she saw in his gaze.

*

“So you’ve declared yourself the new ambassador’s bodyguard?”

Loki closed his eyes and inhaled slowly through his nose. If he beat Jana to a pulp his mother would be cross. He wondered if his dear sister knew how thin the line between safety and great bodily harm was. “I was only thinking of you, Jana. Think what Father would say if you made the new ambassador your latest toy.”

The ambassador and most of the other guests had gone home or to their chambers. Loki himself had decided to unwind in parlor for a while before attempting sleep. The evening had been long and eventful and he’d needed time to think it over while it was still fresh in his mind. At least until Jana had decided to disrupt his thoughts.

“Father doesn’t like her,” she replied smugly, leaning one shoulder on the doorway. “He thinks she’s a ploy by Odin.”

Loki’s eyes narrowed. “Did Laufey tell you to be cruel to her?”

His sister glanced away, finding something interesting on the ceiling of the hallway. So apparently she didn’t want to admit to it but wasn’t afraid for him to know.

“And how does acting like a girl barely out of the school room aid Laufey in his political machinations?”

Jana shrugged. “She wants to come here and walk among us. Eat our food, learn our ways. If she can’t handle a little teasing then she doesn’t belong here.”

There was, perhaps, a grain of truth in that. “You could at least wait for her to prove herself unworthy before lashing out.”

Another shrug. “She needs to be strong if she wants to survive here. If she’s not strong enough to handle my words how would she handle Laufey’s? Even you can’t protect her from him.”

“I’m not trying-” But the protest died on his lips as his sister turned away and disappeared from his doorway. He sighed and tipped his head back to glare at the ceiling, as if it was the thing that disturbed him.

The Alfan - Syn, he should call her by the name she’d requested - had been an excellent dancer. Lithe and graceful, she’d listened to his silent cues as if they’d been long time partners. It had been the most fun he’d had dancing in a very long time.

He groaned and laid his forearm over his eyes. It had been a stupid thing to do. There were a dozen other ways he could have gotten her away from the twins. Asking her to dance had been an impulse. Generally, he didn’t listen to impulses. He planned. Sometimes too much, if his mother was to be believed. Why on earth had he-

“You danced.”

By the gods, he was popular tonight. “Hello, Mother,” he said, dropping his arm.

She stood in the doorway, as Jana had, still in her finery, though she stepped inside once he looked at her. “I haven’t seen you dance at one of these since I forced you to at your coming-of-age ball. And that was with your sister.”

Loki groaned. “It was one dance, to get her away from the twins. Everyone is reading _far_ too much into it.”

His mother sank into the chair across from him. “You made quite the couple our there.”

“We made a ridiculous couple. She doesn’t even come up to my shoulder. I could use her as an arm rest.”

Maiza smiled widely, as if his protests confirmed something she’d already known. “Some people find large height differences adorable. She looked quite comfortable in your arms. Especially considering it’s her first night here. Poor thing must be entirely overwhelmed.”

Loki looked away from his mother’s knowing, piercing gaze. He did hate when she seemed to read his thoughts. Or at least his intentions. “She was a passing fair dancer,” he admitted gruffly.

“Careful, dear, I’ll be throwing a party a week if the little Alfan will continue to get you out on the floor.”

A smile struggled to break through at the thought, but he fought it down. It would only encourage her. “Laufey has set Jana on her. Like a dog to the hunt.”

His mother clucked her tongue. “Not a flattering analogy for your sister or young Syn. Your father has many things in play, including methods to find out the girl’s motives.”

“He’s going to be extremely disappointed. I don’t think she has any.”

That got him slightly narrowed eyes. “That must have been a productive dance.”

He waved a hand. He refused to let the focus stay on a three minute twirl around the floor, pleasant as it had been. “I spoke with her at length at supper. So did Muru and Ruwa. They’ll tell you the same thing. If the ambassador is a pawn she’s an unwitting one.”

“More’s the pity. It would have been easier if she could play the game herself.” Maiza’s expression went cunning again. “Or will you be playing it for her?”

Exasperation drove him from his seat, throwing up his hands. “One dance and everyone thinks I’ve declared myself her knight errant. Is it so outside my character to protect a woman from undeserved scorn?”

The outburst seemed to startle her, there was a pause before she answered, gently, “Yes.”

He turned to look at her. “Well, I thank you for your candor.”

Her face softened. “Oh, my son. I don’t mean that you are cruel or relish in another’s suffering. Only that your priorities have never included strange girls you barely know.”

“She’s my age, royalty, and an ambassador to the realm. I don’t know that girl is the correct term. Unless I am merely a boy to you all?”

“To me, you will always be a little boy,” his mother said with a touch of wistfulness. “But you prove my point again. Only Mashira and Rashira have caused such protectiveness in you before. And even for them I have never seen you voluntarily entangle yourself in your father’s games. Why this gi- Why her?”

He faced the wall, staring blindly at the row of books in front of his face. He could say she reminded him of Mashira. She was small enough, innocent enough. But he’d just admonished his mother not to call her a girl, he could hardly turn around and commit the same sin. And innocent didn’t mean naive or vulnerable. Syn had survived two royal courts, she had to have some skill in manipulation. In knowing her opponents. That had been obvious in the questions she asked, the way she watched and listened. She was learning them, their ways and traditions. His father might think it was for nefarious purposes - and perhaps it was, Loki had been wrong before - but she was doing it. And that meant she had skills even his mother couldn’t see.

Well, let them all underestimate her for as long as possible. It was a weapon in her arsenal and he wouldn’t be the one to take it away.

So he answered, more or less honestly, “I don’t know. Perhaps I’m only trying to ensure she has a fighting chance.”

“Hmm.” Maiza sounded unconvinced. But she stood and wrapped her arms around him from behind, giving him a fierce hug. “Your honor does you well. Just be careful.”

He covered her hand with his. “Mother, please. You know I’m always exceedingly careful.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which I invent a fictional religion. Because I have too much time on my hands, I guess.
> 
> If you missed it, there was a bonus update yesterday so be sure to go back and check.

_The next time the girl went into the woods, the wolf met her again, this time bringing her a wreath of flowers. Feeling guilty at having no gift in return, the girl spent the afternoon brushing out the wolf’s soft, dark fur._  
 _The next time she went out she smuggled the bone from last night’s roast out of the soup pot and brought it to the wolf, who chewed on it happily as they lounged by the slow moving river. And so, a very strange, but strong friendship began._  
Excerpt from The Girl and the Wolf, a traditional Alfan fairy tale

Syn, to her shame, hid in her quarters for a few days. This was not to say she didn’t leave the room at all. She met with Laufey, was introduced to the notable lords and advisors in his court. She was also introduced to the queens, who were all more or less warm to her. Maiza, who she knew was Loki’s mother before being told, for he had her expressive eyes and aristocratic nose, seemed especially interested in her. Syn tried not to read anything into that.

She had not seen the prince since their dance at her welcome feast, nor had she spent time with any of the princesses. She knew she needed to seek them out, or at least venture out into palace and meet others. It was an ambassador’s job to learn the culture and ways of the realm they were sent. The glimpse she had gotten at the banquet intrigued and fascinated her. This realm was so different from what she was used to, so foreign, that despite her interest she felt overwhelmed. She had no idea where to start learning or what questions to ask. Some had been friendly to her, but others, like the twins, had reacted with cruelty or suspicion.

When she had gone out to find food she had received stares and heard whispers. She could only imagine what she looked like to the Jotuns. Small, oddly dressed and a strange color. When she had first gone to Asgard there had been a. . . reluctance to accept her at first. She was new and from a land with very different traditions than Asgard. But she had been the queen’s protégé and quickly taken under the wing of Prince Thor and his friends. By the end of the first year it had been as if she’d grown up there.

It was unlikely she would ever be completely accepted here. Her differences were glaringly obvious and there was only so much she could do to fight against it. Growing eight inches and turning blue probably wasn’t feasible. Still, she had a responsibility to try. To learn what she could.

She decided to start with the library. Everywhere had a library, right?

There were just as many stares as there had been the last time she’d ventured out into the halls. More, because the palace halls seemed to be far more crowded. Syn held her head up high and ignored them as she explored the halls. She started in the large, main hall which was lined with booths and tables manned by various Jotuns, obviously selling their wares. 

The sudden immersion into chaos stopped her in her tracks. She had the presence of mind to tuck up against the wall so that she wouldn’t be in anyone’s way. Getting trampled had not been on her to-do list today. Her determination to join the world faltered a bit in the face of so many people.

“Come to peruse the marketplace?” a soft voice asked at her shoulder.

She should not have been so relieved at the sound of the prince’s voice. He was, of course, preferable to several other people who might have come across her. But Muru or Ruwa would have been just as welcome. Or so she told herself.

Turning slightly, she found him looming over her, hands folded behind his back. He wore loose trousers and an open shirt that was heavily embroidered with gold and green threads. “I actually didn’t know it was market day,” she said. “I had a thought of finding the library.” Though at this point she’d be more than happy to just go back to her room and be brave another day.

“The library?” His brow furrowed and he glanced behind him. “Has no one given you a proper tour?” he asked when he turned back to her.

“No,” she admitted. “I can get to my quarters and the dining hall and, well, here.”

“How were you planning on finding the library?” he asked, amusement starting to thread into his polite tone.

She tamped down on the little flare of defensiveness she felt. “I was hoping there would be a sign.”

To her surprise, he smiled at that. “How would you feel about a guide?”

“You?” Her voice squeaked embarrassingly on the word, making his smile widen.

“I have no other immediate, pressing concerns. So, yes.” He leaned down to bow to her. “At your service, my lady.”

Syn felt her cheeks heat, but she smiled. “I would be honored to have such a prestigious guide, sir.”

He straightened, towering over her once more. “Excellent. This way to the library.” He turned and forged into the crowd, leaving her to hurry after him.

The library was as impressive as she had hoped it would be. And, she had to admit, sufficiently out of the way that she likely would never have found it on her own.

Loki lingered in the doorway as she did a circuit, inspecting the books. There were several thick, leather bound books of Jotun history that she made a mental note to come back and look through. But she also found herself fascinated by the shelves themselves. “It’s all cut out of the stone,” she said after she’d done a full circle.

“We try to work with the caves as much as we can.” He had watched her walk the room with an odd, unreadable expression on his face. “It’s stabler that way.”

“Is everything underground?” she asked, head titled back to look at the beautiful chandeliers dangling from the ceiling.

“Living areas, yes. There are some large meeting areas and a tournament arena on the surface, protected from the worst of the weather by cliffs. They’re used mostly in the warmer months.”

“So there are warmer months?” She hoped the teasing came through clearly in her tone.

He smiled and she was reassured. “Yes. You actually came in the coldest time. There’ll be a spring festival in a few weeks and then you’ll notice a bit of a change. It never gets as warm as your realm, though.”

Well, that was a bit of a relief. Perhaps in summer she’d be able to go to the surface without risking frostbite. “How far does the cave system sprawl?”

Loki tipped his head back. “I’m not sure. Many miles. The Great Hall and palace in general is like a hub of a wheel and various residential and commercial areas shoot off from it like spokes. It’s fairly organized and grid based at the center and just gets more and more chaotic at the edges. I don’t recommend wandering very far from the palace. Not alone anyway.”

Not much risk of that, considering she could barely make her way around the few halls she’d been exposed to. Or were they considered roads? No, she’d stick with hallways. There was only so far she could shift her vocabulary.

“I’ll stick close,” she said. “What’s next on our tour?”

He tilted his head, as if it hadn’t occurred to him there should be more than the library. After a moment, he smiled. “Do you like art?”

*

Their trip to the art gallery had been more successful than Loki had expected. She had been utterly floored by the art, especially the stained and blown glass. Her questions had soon outstripped his admittedly meager knowledge of the craft and they had ended up back at the marketplace, loitering around the glass blower’s booth so Syn could watch him work. 

The blower had noticed them eventually and either in deference to Loki or curiosity about the Alfan, had invited them closer. He gamely answered all of Syn’s questions, obviously bemused at her interest. She had left with a small teardrop shaped pendant and a bright smile on her face.

“What would you like to do now?” he asked. When he’d first made his offer he had planned only on showing her the library and making sure she was able to come and go without harassment. Bringing her to the gallery had been an impulse. After watching her pester the glass blower Loki had realized he was actually enjoying spending time with her and was reluctant to have it end.

Syn twirled her little pendant on the end of cord the blower had wound through it. Her expression was thoughtful a moment, then she said, “What kind of fruit was in that dish at the banquet?”

He realized he was smiling. “Did you enjoy it?” She gave a little, almost shy nod. He scanned the market and touched her arm lightly. “This way.”

At the fruit cart he pointed out the four or five fruits that were usually used in the salad and he and the cart owner had a delightful time watching her taste them all. The butter apple and frost fruit were apparently acceptable. The nut berries got a wrinkled nose at first, but she seemed to warm up after nibbling a second. The thistle fruit and sour peach were too much on their own, based on her absolutely hilarious expressions after biting down on them. The thistle fruit actually got a little dance of disgust that made the cart owner laugh and hand her another butter apple to clear the taste out.

She was a good sport about it all and bought a few of the ones she’d enjoyed for snacking later, as well as a cloth bag from the booth nearby to carry her purchases in.

Loki strolled along her side down the market path. She was crunching on a ripe frost fruit, juice shining on her chin as she peered at the goods being sold around them. He had to fight the urge to reach out and wipe her chin with the back of his hand.

“How often do they hold the market?”

“They line the hall like this twice a month,” he replied. “Some of the booths here have storefronts open all the time, but the more specialty things can only be found here.” He looked down at her. “Do they not have market day in Alfheim?”

“Oh, no, they do. In the Capital, anyway. It’s held about once a week.” She took a particularly large bite and bent forward so the rush of juice hit the street and not her clothes. “I swear, I’m useless sometimes,” she muttered. She wiped her mouth with her sleeve and held the fruit up to him. “Would you like a bite?”

For a moment he had an image of bending close and taking a bite as she held it. Perhaps gripping her wrist to steady it. The urge to do so was remarkably strong, if utterly inappropriate. 

Instead, he took the frost fruit from her and took his own bite, safely away from her fingers. The fact his lips were touching where here had been only moments before was more than intimate enough.

As if she had only just realized herself how cozy the action was, she looked away, cheeks pink. “I’ve heard people here refer to the gods,” she said finally, voice a little thin. “Do you have places of worship?”

Loki smiled to himself and took another bite, finishing off the fruit. “We have shrines scattered about. There’s a temple in the palace proper but it’s rarely used.”

Her expression turned thoughtful. “May I see it?”

Not being a particularly religious man, Loki was not a frequent visitor of the temple. It was possible he got a little lost on the way, but Syn was polite enough not to mention it. When they finally arrived the temple was empty, as he had expected. He hovered just inside the doorway as she made her slow circuit of the room, studying the statues that graced the niches cut into the rock walls.

She stopped opposite him, glancing around the small, round room. “Five?” she asked, studying the statue she had paused in front of.

“Five main deities, yes.” He strolled a little farther into the room. “There are minor ones, but most consider them merely aspects of the main pantheon. It’s common practice to take one particular god or goddess as your patron and keep a shrine to them in your home. Some people prefer to chose an aspect as their patron, as if a god with a smaller scope might have more time to answer prayers.”

“Do you have a patron?” she asked, watching him as he approached her.

He paused and turned to his left, pointing to the niche next to the central one she had stopped in front of. “Tanet. God of luck and magic.” The statue was the most common pose of Tanet, a young man sitting on a chair or throne, a staff at his side and a coin between his fingers. The sculptor had given the god a slight, secretive smile, which Loki thought was a nice touch. “I confess I don’t speak with him much, but if the myths are to be believed he’s quite all right with that.”

Syn gave a crooked smile, one far different from any other smile he had ever seen from her before. “Not a hands-on god?”

“Well, he’s the god of luck, after all. How much meddling can he really do without losing credibility?”

That crooked smile was remarkably endearing. It made him feel as if she was sharing a special joke, just with him. “And who is this?” she asked, gesturing to the figure in the center niche.

“That would be Lyra, goddess of life and death.” The goddess was generally depicted as a beautiful woman with a flower in one hand and a sickle in the other. Some artists gave her a skeletal hand or a hood, but this statue was whole and lovely. In her right palm she cradled a lotus blossom. In her left was a small scythe. Around her ankles wound a snake biting its own tail in an ouroboros, the symbol of eternity; in this case the eternal cycle of life and death.

Syn tipped her head back to study the figure. He came up at her side, trying to see it through her eyes. “No gods on Alfheim?”

“No,” she said quietly. “Not really. My mother is from the country and sometimes talks of ‘the spirits.’ Beings that embody the land or the sky or the water that may or may not have once been alive. She was always very vague about it. I hear it mostly as a curse or turn of phrase. No one actually worships them.” She glanced up at him. “Who are the other three?”

He tried to imagine a world without gods. Without even his vague belief that something was watching over him, looking out for the interests of those who believed. The chance, small though it might be, that something powerful and omnipotent would intercede on your behalf. He had grown up with tales of the gods. His mother loved the old myths and stories and was devout, in her way. It was those stories he tapped into now.

“This is Kuruk, the god of stone and sky,” he said, gesturing at the statue at Lyra’s right. “On the other side of him is his wife, goddess of home and family, called Maya. Last is Ara.” He pointed to the niche on left of Tanet. “They represent love, passion, jealousy, friendship. I suppose you could say relationships in general, both good and ill, healthy or damaging.”

Her forehead had furrowed, eye brows drawn down into a vee. “They? I see only one figure.”

“Ara is both male and female and also neither,” he explained, arms crossed over his chest. “Because they represent relationships between all people they cannot be limited to one gender. They’re generally depicted as androgynous, but some artist give them two faces. Stories will either assign one gender for the duration of the tale or alternate pronouns. In speech it’s polite to use they or them.”

She was nodding slowly. The concept obviously seemed strange to her, but she absorbed to with the same quiet curiosity as she had everything else she’d learned here. “You said Kuruk and Maya were married. I assume Ara is not tied to any one figure as they represent so many.” She glanced at him from the corner of her eye and he gave a little nod and smile to assure her she’d gotten it right. “What of Lyra and Tanet? Do they have partners?”

He had to admit, he did enjoy how quickly her mind moved. How eager she was to learn all she could about his people, his realm. The other ambassadors he’d known had been politicians, sharp and polished as swords. None had given half a damn about the realm they had been sent to live in. “Well, it depends on the tale. They are not married but they are often depicted as having a . . . flirtation. He’s a trickster god and she is sometimes a victim and sometimes a co-conspirator in his games.” Those had been Loki’s favorite tales, the reason he had taken Tanet as his patron. It was a dynamic he had enjoyed and, as he’d grown, hoped to find with someone.

“I’d love to read some of the stories. I always liked myths and legends. My mother used to find me books from other realms, once I’d memorized all the stories from Alfheim.”

An image of her as a child, perhaps Mashira’s age, or younger, came to him. Hair in a tousle of curls, bare feet poking from under a dirt smudged dress as she curled up with a thick book of legends from some exotic realm. The picture was sudden and unbidden, but once in his head he couldn’t shake it. He had the strong desire to see her hair unbound. It was so different than Jotun hair, lighter, coarser and curlier. She kept it tamed in simple twists and buns, but tendrils and locks spilled out regularly. It would take barely a touch to destroy the coif entirely.

She was looking up at him expectantly and he realized she’d probably intended for him to respond, though he had gotten lost in his thoughts. He gave himself a little shake. “Another trip to the library is in order, then.” Impulsively, he offered her his arm to lead her out.

She reached out to lay her hand on his arm, then paused. “One moment,” she said. Then she dug in her bag and pulled out a few nut berries and put them on the altar before Lyra, alongside the other offerings laid out there.

When she turned back to him, her expression was a touch sheepish. “It just seemed. . . respectful.”

Her fingers curling into the crook of his arm momentarily distracted him, then he asked, “Why her?”

Syn glanced back at the goddess. “I’m not sure. She just. . . appealed to me.”

He stared down at her a moment, with her odd hair, crooked smile and pale skin, and wondered at the strange chain of events that had lead to her being here at this moment with him. “Well. It seems you’ve chosen your patroness.”

Her cheeks pinked, but she didn’t correct him, only glanced at the altar once more before letting him lead her towards the door.

Behind her back, he dug a coin from his pocket and tossed it towards Tanet’s altar. He was likely well overdue for an offering and he was feeling oddly grateful at that particular moment.


	6. Chapter 6

_I am so glad to hear you are settling in well. I do hope you find time to continue your studies in magic. Magic, like any gift, needs to be used to keep it healthy and active. Perhaps the best metaphor would be how a limb left immobile soon atrophies. Little is known of Jotun magicks; they are such an insular people. I would love to hear anything you learn of it._  
\-- Excerpt from a letter from Queen Frigga of Asgard to her protege Syn the Truthful of Alfheim, ambassador to Jotunheim

“This is the third morning in a row I’ve seen you with your nose in that book.”

Syn looked up to see Muru sinking onto the cushions across from her, a plate piled high with meats, eggs and fruit in her hand. Breakfast in the Jotun palace was similar to that in Alfheim. The kitchens provided a lovely buffet selection available to everyone house in the palace. Considering how many wives, children, lords, advisors and other politicians resided there, the buffet was larger and more elaborate than the ones she saw at home. But it was obviously needed, as she had come late to breakfast a few times and been left with very little selection to pick from.

She smiled at the Jotun princess and marked her page, closing it in favor of chatting with her new table mate. “It’s a book of myths I borrowed from the library. I’m hoping to learn more about the gods worshipped here.”

Muru smiled, sipping her drink. “I heard my charming brother gave you a bit of a tour the other day.”

It had not occurred to her she and Loki might have been a topic of gossip around the palace. “He found me about to be trampled in the market and was kind enough to show me around. I’m looking forward to the next market, there was so much I didn’t get to see.”

“And now you’ve found an interest in religion?” Muru asked, tapping a long, slim finger on the thick book at Syn’s elbow.

“We don’t have gods or goddesses on Alfheim. Loki showed me the temple and told me the basics, but I’ve always been interested in legends and the like. These are fascinating. Are you devout?”

The other woman shrugged, picking up a piece of bacon and nibbling. “More than Loki, I would think. I’ve a shrine to Maya in my parlor and make sure the flowers and wine are kept fresh and full. Our mother takes it quite seriously and would likely be quite happy to talk about it with you, if you wished. She told us all the stories growing up.”

Muru’s patron didn’t surprise Syn at all. She had, in fact, spent the last few days playing a game with herself wherein she tried to guess the patron god of the people she had met. She had no real way of confirming her suspicions, of course, but she enjoyed it, nonetheless.

“If you think your mother would welcome my questions I may track her down and interrogate her. However, I did have one question you could probably answer.” Muru’s mouth was full, but she gestured with one hand to indicate Syn should continue. Syn touched the book. “In the stories Lyra, Tanet and to a small degree Ara all have magic. And Tanet is the god of magic as well as luck. Are their Jotuns with magic or is it only a creation of the myth makers?” She had yet to see any magic here. All of the crafts in the market had seemed to have mundane roots and there had been no spell books or grimoires in the library.

The Jotun princess took a deep drink of the hot, rich drink that was common at breakfast time here, swallowing the mouthful of food she had. “Most have a touch of it. It’s not like it is in the stories, though. It’s. . . elemental.” She held out a hand. As Syn watched, the blue skin frosted, then iced over, freezing solid. “Our warriors use it to make spikes or knives of ice. I know some who can make snow or control the wind. It doesn’t have much practical use, other than fighting.” She shook her hand and the ice crackled and fell off. “Is there magic in your realm?”

Any affirmative answer was probably going to be a bit of an understatement. So, in response, Syn tugged a ribbon out of her hair and coiled it on her palm. Her magic rose up and pooled between her shoulder blades, then seared down her arm to her hand. The ribbon flared with gold light and when it faded a white lotus blossom sat in its place. “Not everyone has it,” she said, trying not to grin at the stunned look on Muru’s face. “But those of us who do can be quite powerful.”

Slim blue fingers reached out and stroked the petals of the flower. “That’s remarkable. It feels real.”

“It is real. It’s as real a flower as it was a ribbon.” She held it out and slipped it into Muru’s hand. “I trained with Queen Frigga of Asgard. She has remarkable skills, especially in illusions and glamour, which I have no talent with.”

“This seems far more complicated than illusions,” Muru said, studying the flower with a wondering little smile.

“It is. But I have a truth curse and illusions and truth don’t mix.” There was a nut berries still on her plate and she took one and popped it in her mouth. “I can do just about anything else, including transmutation. My innate talents are for healing, I went to Frigga to expand my horizons.”

“This is something out of the old tales.” The other woman smiled at her. “May I keep this?”

“Of course. It will wilt and brown like any other flower,” she warned.

“That’s fine. I think I’ll put it on Maya’s altar. Seems fitting somehow.” Muru smiled widely at her. “I’m glad you came to court,” she told her.

The words caused a flush of warmth in Syn. Other than the twins, her welcome here had been polite enough. The politicians she had met seemed a bit flummoxed with her, as if they weren’t sure if she was really an ambassador or some sort of practical joke being played on them by Asgard. In fact, the general reaction to her seemed to be bemusement. Even Loki, who had gone out of his way to show her around and answer her questions, occasionally had an air of someone humoring a child. This was the first indication anyone actually liked her here.

“Thank you,” she said quietly. “I do like it here.”

“I can tell,” Muru said. Then as if she’d read her mind, she added, “And as others realize that they will welcome you more.”

She hoped that were true. To be honest, the bemusement was a better welcome than she had thought to hope for. The thought she might actually get to acceptance seemed completely beyond reach. But time could change all manner of things and she felt she was off to a decent start.

She stayed with Muru while she finished her meal. They discussed Muru’s favorite books and Syn made a mental note to try to find them on her next trip to the library. She was going to wear a rut along the path from her rooms to said library at the rate she was going. Muru also told her about the spring ball that would be held in a few weeks.

After parting ways with Muru, Syn found her way to the queen’s parlor. Everyone in the palace seemed to have a parlor attached to their other rooms. They served as offices, sitting rooms and places to greet guests. There was one attached to Syn’s bedroom, furnished with a couch and two comfortable chairs and little else. From what she’d glimpsed of other’s rooms, she would need to personalize it if she intended to have visitors.

The queens’ parlors took up one side of a hallway near Laufey’s offices and meetings rooms. She would love to see a proper floor plan of the palace, because she swore it made no sense at all most of the time.

The parlor for Ruwa’s mother was empty. Ruwa had told her she had a younger sister, perhaps the third queen was busy with her younger daughter. 

Syn had no desire to meet the twins’ mother, so she gave that doorway a wide berth and presented herself at the parlor of Loki’s mother, Maiza.

The first queen of the Jotuns sat on an ornate, heavily embroidered lounge, sewing in her lap. Another Jotun woman in simpler attire sat on a chair to one side, working her own embroidery wheel.

She had no idea what the polite thing to do was. Did she announce herself? Wait for the queen to notice her? Just start talking? She settled for clearing her throat and scuffing her boot lightly to get the other woman’s attention.

Queen Maiza looked up and Syn saw a brief flicker of surprise in the Jotun woman’s face before she broke into a wide, welcoming smile. “Ambassador Syn, what a lovely surprise. Or do you prefer Princess?”

“Just Syn will do for me,” she said. She was collecting far too many titles to be practical. “Muru mentioned you knew a bit about the gods and I had some questions. . .”

The queen put her sewing down and reached out to pat the empty chair beside her. “That happens to be one of my favorite topics. Come and ask your questions.”

Relief at the easy, casual welcome flooded her as she crossed the room to take the offered seat. She had been introduced to Maiza on her first day, along with so many other people. Her initial impression had been of a kind, if a little distant woman with crisp, half circle patterned tribal markings. Now that she’d spent a full day with Loki, she was far more interested in the woman who had raised him.

Syn opened the book she had been reading and began asking her questions. The queen answered them easily, explaining how certain changes in tone had come from the fact multiple authors had contributed to some of the volumes. She was able to explain a bit more about Ara’s representation and even point out a few stories where they came off more sympathetic and less meddling or antagonistic.

“This volume is a good starting point, but it’s been heavily edited and translated,” Maiza said, running slim fingers along a line of text. “I have some other books you might find interesting. Each of the gods have their own bible, which will give you a better picture off all their aspects.” She closed the book with a quiet thump. “All take their turn being hero and villain. Did you have any favorite stories?”

Wondering if she might be giving away too much, Syn admitted, “The ones with Tanet and Lyra are entertaining.”

Maiza laughed, a deep, throaty noise. “They are that. You will definitely want to read the other volumes. There is far more to their relationship than is depicted here.”

“Loki said they are never officially ‘together’ but have a long term flirtation.”

The queen tipped her head back a little, eyes narrowing. It was accepted in the other realms that all Jotun looked the same. Tall, blue skinned and red eyed. Syn had been on Jotunheim long enough to notice there were variations in the colors. Maiza’s eyes were a bright, striking scarlet, much like Loki’s. And while her skin was a darker blue that his, they had the same grey undertone. It reminded Syn of the ocean she had grown up beside.

“First you get him to dance, then talk of the gods,” the queen murmured. “When you grow tired of being the ambassador I may keep you on as my son’s social director.” Syn felt her cheeks heat as the other woman continued. “They never marry, no, but they are, in their way, true to each other. We have a festival in fall that celebrates their relationship.”

This was the first she’d heard of holidays based on the gods. “Are their any other celebrations devoted to them?”

“Not to Tanet and Lyra. There is a holiday in the dead of winter for Kuruk and Maya that involves an exchange of gifts and fire between loved ones. Ara’s holiday is in the spring and is a common time for weddings and engagements. It’s said if a couple marries under Ara’s day they will be blessed by them.”

“That surprises me, so many of the stories I read of them were negative.”

Maiza leaned back on her lounge and murmured something to her servant. The girl nodded and stood, slipping from the room. “She’s going to get us some tea and treats.”

“Oh, that’s very kind of you.”

The queen waved a hand. “Nonsense. This is the most enjoyable theology discussion I’ve had in some time. There’s nothing I love more than an eager mind.”

She was blushing again, she was sure. “I’ve always been curious.” Her tutors had always thought she asked too many questions, to the point her parents had given up on them, letting her design her own studies from books in the library. Frigga had loved her questions, though, much as Maiza seemed to. It only convinced Syn that her tutors had been idiots.

“An admirable trait, especially in a member of a royal house,” Maiza said. She tapped the thick book Syn had brought in. “This is a compilation book. A starter guide to the gods. You’ll find a copy in most homes and parents will often read to their children from it. Not to say it is simplistic but it is. . . distilled. Sensational. So only the juicy stories get put in. Ara can be kind and gentle as well as Lyra can be cruel, or Maya selfish. It isn’t the common depiction, though, so it is sometimes forgotten.”

Syn smiled. “I can see my study has only just begun.”

Maiza laughed again, resettling on her lounge. “I have several thousand years on you and I sometimes feel mine has only just begun. But I will see you get copies of the better books and I am always happy to answer questions or discuss particular stories. If you like, we could set up a regular lunch to analyze the themes and lessons that you’ll see in the tales.” She held up a hand. “But if that is too much for you it’s not necessary. I don’t want you to feel I’m proselytizing or trying to convert you.”

“Oh, I don’t, I swear,” Syn assured her. “I’m very interested in it all and would welcome any time you were willing to spend to help me understand. I have always loved stories like this. Legends and the like. We don’t have gods on Alfheim or Asgard.” She touched the book. “These are like the legends of home but they seem to mean. . .more. Because so many take guidance from them.” She chewed her lip. “I’m sorry. I’m not sure I’m saying this properly.”

“I think you’re saying it quite nicely. And I admit, I’m enjoying seeing our gods and stories through the eyes of someone new and young. Every new perspective is important.”

It was almost too good to be true. Syn had expected every battle she faced here to be grueling and uphill. To have anyone, let alone the queen, be so open and welcoming to her questions was incredible. “I did have one other question but I hesitate to bring it up. I don’t want to offend you. Or anyone, of course.”

Maiza smiled warmly and leaned forward, twining her fingers together loosely and letting them rest on her lap. “Please go ahead, I know your questions come from curiosity not malice.”

Syn blew out a breath and nodded. “How does one go about selecting a patron god or goddess?” That was probably the best place to start. She could ease into it slowly.

Another warm smile. “It’s not as formal as you might think. Generally when one comes of age and finds their own place in the world they choose their patron and set up a shrine. Some children or youths will have a favorite and set up a small niche somewhere in their parents’ house. But most wait till they’re an adult so that their personality and alignments are more settled.”

“So it is based on personality?”

“Partially. I don’t know that I could picture Loki leaving offerings for gruff, stone headed Kuruk, for example.” Syn smirked a little at the image and Maiza chuckled. “Exactly. Everyone I know who is devout and has a strong bond with their patron simply felt a. . . pull to one god or another. People know themselves better than they think they do. Though it’s not unheard of for someone to chose a new patron at some point in our life often after a major life event. Women who worshipped Ara convert to Maya after having children, men who aligned with Kuruk who change to Lyra after witnessing battle.” The queen titled her head and asked thoughtfully, “Why the curiosity about this particularly?”

“I . . .” Syn cleared her throat and blew out another breath. “I feel a certain affinity for Lyra. Her stories and character speak to me in a way I can’t really explain. I’m not certain what it means and I don’t wish to seem like I’m . . . appropriating a bit of your culture to fit in. But at the same time I can’t deny the interest.”

Something like mirth danced in Maiza’s eyes, though she tried to hide it. “Your sensitivity speaks well of you, Syn. I have no doubt you want to be as respectful as you can. I think anyone devout enough to care would see that, as well. Religion should be welcoming and inclusive.” She studied Syn a moment. “I admit, if you were Jotun I would expect you to be one of Lyra’s. You have that air about you.”

Syn found herself oddly flattered at that. There was a clink of stoneware as the servant returned with a tea set and plates of cakes, cookies and fruit. She set the tray on the low table beside Maiza’s lounge and retreated to the side of the room again. 

Maiza leaned forward and served the tea and filled a plate, handing them over to Syn. “You’ve known about our gods less than a week,” the queen said, pouring her own tea. “I would suggest you continue to learn. Read the books I’ll have sent to your rooms. Perhaps meditate.” She glanced up at Syn. “Is that done in Alfheim?”

“After a fashion.” At home it was believed important to have a quiet, thoughtful activity. One a person could engage in and let their mind wander when an important decision needed to be made or heavy issues were weighing on their mind. Her mother gardened, her brothers and father hunted. Syn preferred to read, but for things like this it wasn’t always helpful. She had no talent for art or singing. There was nothing here to garden. Maybe she could ask the glass blower for lessons.

“Then give it some thought and we can discuss it in due time.”

“Thank you, your majesty,” she said quietly, taking a sip of her tea.

“Call me Maiza, I insist. We don’t stand much on ceremony here.”

Before Syn could reply, there was the patter of running footsteps out in the hall. She and Maiza looked up to see a small Jotun girl come barreling into the parlor. She petite and fine boned, with pale skin with lavender undertones and dark red eyes the color of good wine. She skidded to a halt when she saw them, staring at Syn with wide eyes.

The third queen, Raifa, appeared in the doorway a moment later, out of breath from running. Her skin was the same pale blue as the girl and Syn surmised she had just met the youngest princess, Ruwa’s sister.

“I’m sorry, Maiza,” the other queen said. “I didn’t mean to disturb you, she got away from me.”

Syn put her tea cup down and reached for her book. “I can go if you need-”

Maiza waved a hand and Raifa started to protest when the little girl said, “Your skin is funny colored.”

There was a moment of silence, then Raifa smacked her forehead, growling, “Rashira. . .”

“It is!” the child protested. “And her hair is strange, too. It’s squiggly.”

Syn was trying hard not to laugh. She didn’t think her hair had ever been called that. “My skin is a different color because I’m Aesir.” She held out her hand so the little girl could inspect it closer. “And my hair is curly, which makes it very hard to brush and keep tidy.”

The girl - Rashira - took Syn’s hand in both her tiny, cool ones. She turned it over, peering at the palm and the back, tracing the little lines and bending her fingers to watch the knuckles grow pale. Then she came closer to tug a bit of her hair.

“Rashira, personal space,” Raifa said, sounding tired.

“I don’t mind,” Syn assured her. “She’s not hurting.” Rashira was wrapping a lock of Syn’s hair over her fingers. “I think your hair is very pretty,” Syn told her. The shiny black strands were woven into two braids that met in the back of her head to form a more elaborate plait.

It was obviously the right thing to say because the little girl beamed, showing straight, white teeth save for the gap where a milk tooth had fallen out and the adult one hadn’t grown in yet. “Mama is teaching me braiding. I could practice on you, if you like. I know lots of braids.”

Syn had noticed the Jotun women indulged in very intricate braiding. At the feast the other night everyone seemed to have a different pattern or style. Even at the market she had seen plait after plait. It obviously meant something to them, culturally, and she had made an effort to avoid braids for fear of offending.  
   
She glanced up at Raifa, who looked back passively, as if waiting to see what she would do. Well, she wasn’t going to get anywhere towards acceptance by being timid. Syn looked back at Rashira. “I would be honored to have to braid my hair, if it’s all right with your mother.”

The girl gave her mother a pleading look that apparently children of all realms and races had perfected and the third queen smiled. “I think that’s a fine idea.”

“I’ll order more tea,” Maiza offered. When Syn looked over she had an odd, enigmatic smile on her face.


	7. Chapter 7

_Tanet was known to wander far and wide in those days, searching for new people to tease or songs to hear of stories to learn. There came one fine snowy day he came across a cluster of warm springs. And in one of the springs there lounged a beautiful woman, bare breasted and hair unbound._  
 _Immediately intrigued by her, but not wanting to seem too forward, he found a rock to sit on not far from the spring and began to do magic, simple tricks to amuse and delight. After a few minutes of this he looked back at the maid and found her watching him, a wide smile on her face. “Is that magic?” she asked, voice sweet and warm as the water she lounged in._  
 _“It is,” Tanet replied, smug at his success in catching her attention. “Would you like me to teach you some?”_  
 _The maiden’s eyes danced and she laughed. “Oh, yes. Please.”_  
\--Excerpt from “When Tanet Met the Maid” from the Tales of the Gods

Loki had been looking for Mashira everywhere. They had planned to spend the afternoon together, possibly training in the gym or exploring the library, exact plans had been left in the air. But now it was well past the time they had agreed to meet and she was nowhere to be found.

 As a last resort he made his way to his mother’s parlor to see if she had any ideas. It wasn’t outside the realm of possibility that his little sister had gotten herself into trouble and was currently grounded. It had happened before and she was, after all, his sister. If their mother didn’t know where she was then it was possible she’d disappeared from the realm altogether.

He heard women’s voices and laughter while he was still several rooms away from his mother’s parlor. He sighed. Of course she was having guests over the one day he came to visit. Well, his question was simple and short, he could be in and out in a moment.

When he turned the corner into the doorway he found a rather unexpected tableau. His mother sat on her usual comfortable lounge chair. With her was Raifa, Muru and Jun, the twins’ mother. That was not unusual, in and of itself, his mother was on friendly terms with the other queens and Muru was a common visitor in the parlor. The unusual part came from the other guests.

Syn of Alfheim sat on the floor, rear cushioned by a plump pillow. Behind her, perched on an ottoman, were Rashira and Mashira. They had split the Alfan’s hair straight down the middle and had each taken a half and were intricately braiding the soft brown strands. A veritable feast of sweets and tea were laid out on a low table and the women seemed to all be picking at the fare as they chatted.

He stared at them a moment, finding himself utterly mesmerized by her hair. He’d thought only the other day how he wished he could see it unbound. Tied up in a dozen or more plaits was far from unbound, but it wasn’t piled up on the back of her head. The parts that weren’t plaited hung down in thick, luxurious curls to her waist. He could almost feel the silken texture between his fingers and he was suddenly, madly jealous of his little sisters that they got to play with it uninhibited.

His mother noticed him first, but didn’t say anything, just smiled at him in her sweet, enigmatic way. As if she saw straight through him, to his innermost thoughts and desires. To parts of him that even he didn’t know or understand. Maybe she could explain them to him, as he felt more and more tangled up.

Then Mashira saw him and paled. “We were supposed to meet.”

He crossed his arms, lounging against the doorway. “It’s quite all right, obviously your attention was turned elsewhere.”

Rashira looked up and beamed. “Loki! Look what Syn can do.”

The Alfan had turned her head to look at him, expression rather sheepish. He caught her gaze and held it a moment, wishing the majority of his female relatives weren’t sitting there watching them. “What can Syn do?” he asked softly.

Both the girls poked her lightly. “Show him, show him.”

Still looking only at him, Syn lifted her hands and cupped them as if to catch water. But instead of liquid her hands began to fill with sparks of gold light. They bubbled up from her palms until they spilled over, drifting down to the floor before dissipating.

Rashira leaned around Syn and stuck her hand in the stream. “They don’t feel hot, like fire. They tickle.”

It was simple magic. The sparks obviously had no weight or presence, they were just pretty tricks of the light. But it was something that no Jotun could have managed with a thousand years of study. No wonder the girls were so impressed with it. Loki found himself rather impressed.

The sparks died out and Syn let her hands drop. “It was the first trick my mother taught me,” she said.

He realized he was smiling at her in what was almost certainly a silly way. Shaking himself out of his stupor, he focused on Mashira. “As you are otherwise occupied I suppose it’s best to reschedule our plans.” He kept his tone light so that she wouldn’t think he was upset. Her smile assured him she was not offended.

He risked one more glance at his mother to find her still smiling at him in that infuriating way she had. Oh, and now Muru had joined in, lovely. He sketched a bow to the room and turned to walk away. He heard the buzz of conversation start back up before he’d reached the end of the hall.

It may have been cowardice. Or pettiness. Or just the vague feeling of confusion that had tangled in him since the new ambassador had arrived. But for the next few days Loki had the urge to avoid everyone he knew and simply be left alone. Easier said than done living in the palace with all the people he wanted to avoid.

His desperation was such that he ended up going on a hunt, ostensibly to get enough meat for the upcoming spring ball in honor of Ara. Most of the food was supplied by their farmers and animal keepers, but it was traditional to have some wild boar or other game for the festivals of the gods. A call back to the days of ritual offerings and sacrifice. He wasn’t the best hunter in the realms, but he found his mark more often than not. And it would get him out of the increasingly claustrophobic palace for the better part of the week.

 Regrettably, it would also put him in fairly close contact with Jana, who was a frequent and skilled hunter. She had seemed more amused than anything else when she’d seem him saddling up with the rest of the party.  
 “Leaving your Alfan pet unguarded?” she asked across the back of her mount.

Denying it again would just encourage her to continue the tease. “She’s made several powerful friends in her short time here, including my mother. And she’s quite capable of taking care of herself. You can spare her your concern.”

Jana snorted, swinging up onto her mount. “Try to keep up. I’d hate to leave the beloved prince behind.”

Yes, this was going to be ever so pleasant.

To Jana’s credit - and oh, how he was loathe to give her any - once they were on the hunt proper she was professional and calm, treating him as she would any other fellow hunter. They took down more meat than expected and were hailed as heroes when they returned to the palace with the haul. Loki didn’t even notice that a certain Alfan ambassador wasn’t in the welcoming crowd when they returned.

They were a day later than expected so the ball was that night. He barely had time to wash up and dress before it was time to go to the main hall. This festival didn’t have the formal sit-down meal, rather a buffet that was refilled throughout the night. Loki was grateful for small favors, he was in no mood for polite chit chat.

His week away had done him good. He felt less tangled, on steadier feet. There was no harm in liking the Alfan, he had decided. Or in wanting to learn more about her or her people. It was, after all, why she was here. And she had put great pain and effort into learning about them. It would only be appropriate that someone try to do the same.

He was full of self righteous certainty as he strode into the ball room. Syn would see the logic and benefit of a cultural exchange. His mother would praise him for his open-mindedness and willingness to dip his toe in messy political waters. He should hunt more often, it was so useful for clearing his head.

Then he walked into the ballroom and saw her and it got all cluttered up again.

She stood to the side with Muru, Ruwa and some of their friends. Her dress was a deep, rich red, the dark color of heart’s blood. The fabric was heavy, with a texture that made it look as if it had been crushed and smoothed over her form. It clung to her breasts and stomach before falling from her hips in layers of skirt. The sisters had obviously been busy with her hair. It was braided simply, then wound into a bun on the back of her head, blending Jotun and Alfan styles. A gossamer thin wrap covered her shoulders. Thoughts of logic and cultural respect fled him as he watched her laugh and talk with the other women.

Arms wound around his and he glanced down to find his mother smiled up at him. “Welcome home,” she murmured. “I’m told you’re to thank from some of the game.”

“I did my part,” he conceded, wondering who was singing his praises.

His mother followed his gaze and her expression took on the same enigmatic smile she had had in her parlor last week. “It’s all right to like her,” she told him conspiratorially. “She’s remarkably likable.”

He wondered if she would give the same advice if he admitted his feelings for Syn had the potential to go far beyond “like.” It was too soon to be making any claims on her, any grand announcements. They’d had only a handful of conversations. But the day he had spent with her, showing her the library and marketplace had been entirely enjoyable. So much that he had wanted to do it again. So much that it had sent him fleeing the palace to try to sort himself out. 

Now he was wondering why he’d bothered if one look could undo it all so quickly. Perhaps his mother was right, perhaps there was no harm in liking her. In spending all the time with her that he wanted. He could indulge himself and there was little chance anything would come of it. And besides, it would probably annoy his father to no end.

Speaking of whom, Laufey seemed to be having a serious, intense discussion with Jana at one end of the room. Loki would have given a great deal to hear what they were talking about. Then Jana turned to aim a glare at Syn and he felt a quiet thread of concern. A glance at his mother’s face told him she’d seen it as well.

“If I ask her to dance again, can I trust you not to mock?” he asked lightly, watching his father and sister carefully.

“You have my word,” his mother murmured. She stretched up to kiss his cheek. “Tread lightly, son.”

He nodded sharply and untangled his arm from hers and made his way to the cluster of women surrounding Syn. Muru spotted him on his way and leaned down to say something to Syn, who turned to face him just as he reached her.

“Welcome back,” she said with a smile, head tipped back to look at him.

“Thank you,” he said, throat tight. “Dance with me.” Out the corner of his eye he saw Ruwa and Muru exchange a glance, but he kept his focus on Syn.

One of her brows arched and her mouth twisted in the little smile he found so enchanting. “Are you capable of asking instead of ordering?”

He felt his own mouth start to curl in a smile. “Yes.”

When it was obvious he wasn’t going to elaborate she arched the other brow and gestured with one hand as if to say, “Well?”

Bending at the waist, he caught her hand and raised it to his mouth, brushing a light kiss across her knuckles. “May I have this dance, my lady ambassador?”

Her cheeks pinked and her smile untwisted, growing wide and beautiful. “You may.” He tugged her hand and she followed him easily, glancing back at his sisters as he led her away.

The fabric of her dress was smooth and oddly stiff under his hand. Beneath it, she was warm, almost hot. He wondered idly what he felt like to her. If the chill of his skin was unpleasant to her natural warmth. He liked how she felt. Like holding his hands above a warming fire after being out in the biting cold for too long. Her hand cooled a bit as he held hers, or his warmed, or some combination of the two, but her waist stayed hot beneath his palm as he twirled her around the dance floor.

 Her other hand rested lightly on his upper arm and she focused her eyes on the base of his throat. This close it would likely be uncomfortable to look up at him fully, but he found himself wanting to see her eyes. To speak face to face. He squeezed the hand he held and she tipped her head back farther to look at him.

He found himself momentarily distracted by the smooth, fragile line of her throat. Pale, delicate skin stretched gracefully over tendon and veins almost the same blue of his skin. He could see her pulse fluttering lightly at the center of the column, a little faster than normal, he thought.

“Did you have a good hunt?” she asked him, tone polite, voice a little throaty.

“We did,” he said, drawing his gaze to hers. “Have you tried the food yet?”

She shook her head and gave a shy smile. “I was waiting for my tour guide to walk me through it.”

The little tease sent and odd little jolt through him, despite how simple it was. It made him wonder if she was as tangled about him as he was about her. If so, his plan to spend time with her might not be as wise as he’d thought. Still, he replied, “I’d be happy to help. We can’t have you starving under our watch, can we?”

Another wide, pretty smile. “Do you hunt often?”

“Not as often as others,” he admitted. Jana went on almost all the major hunts. Probably best not to mention her, though. It was all he could do not to cast a glance in said sister’s direction. “I find it a good way to clear my head when I’m trying to puzzle something out. There’s a great deal of waiting, makes for excellent thinking time.”

Syn tilted her head. “Did you need time to think this time?”

“I did,” he admitted. It was far too early to tell her what, precisely had been on his mind. He didn’t want to overwhelm or frighten her. Still, she seemed to expect some sort of answer. So he said the first thing that came into his head. “I was wondering if there would be any purpose in having you teach me some magic.”

Her eyes lit up and he felt a subtle shift in her posture. “If you want to learn I’d be more than happy to try to teach you.”

It wasn’t how he had planned to go about it, but it was as good a reason to see her as any. And if it got back to his father it might even temper his annoyance enough that he would let it play out. Loki would prefer to be on surer footing with her before dealing with any parental interference. And, as an unexpected bonus, he would learn a trick or two.

“I’ll call upon you tomorrow morning,” he said, glad to have a plan after days of confusion. He always worked better with a plan.

*

Syn was becoming quite fond of her parlor. It has been furnished when she moved into the Jotun palace, boasting a lounge and two chairs with footstools, plus a low table. There was a small bookshelf along one wall that had been empty on her arrival but now held several of the books Maiza had sent her. Syn had originally assumed she was only lending them to her, but the queen had insisted they were hers to keep. Syn had also managed to find a bookseller out in the market place and purchased her own copy of the compilation she had borrowed from the library as well as a second copy for her mother. She’d also bought two novels and a volume of romantic poetry that had thus far been far more erotic than romantic. Not that she was necessarily complaining.

Today she had thought it best to stick with the religious texts, specifically Tanet’s volume. She wasn’t having much success concentrating, however, and it was almost a relief when Loki rapped on the wall outside her door.

Putting the book aside, she sat up. “Come in, come in.” She watched him stroll into the room, his gaze seeming to take in everything. His sister, Muru had mentioned that he had been a small infant, almost considered a runt. He had caught up with the others somewhere along the way, at least to her eyes. He didn’t seem to be any smaller than the other Jotun. He had a lean, predatory grace to him that seemed lacking in the other men, though. Not that they were clumsy or buffonish, far from it. She’d yet to meet a Jotun male who didn’t ooze power and a controlled, vaguely military air. They all gave the impression they could kill you. Loki was the only one she didn’t think she’d see coming.

He sank into one of the chairs opposite her lounge and she bit her lip self consciously, hoping her study of him hadn’t been too obvious. “I wasn’t entirely sure you’d come,” she admitted.

He looked a little offended when he tilted his head. “I did tell you I would.”

“I know. You just had the air of someone who hadn’t thought out his request very much.” She saw a flicker of surprise cross his face. “People think their intentions are hard to read. They rarely are.”

Loki chuckled softly, glancing away from her a moment before looking back. “I’ll admit I hadn’t entirely known what I was going to say before I said it. But I don’t regret making the request. And I must have meant it, mustn’t I? I was touching you when I said it.”

She had the vaguest feeling that she had lost some sort of verbal sparring match she hadn’t realized she was participating in. Not in a bad way, not the way Jana or a courtier might have made her feel. But she definitely had the feeling he had been playing with her a little bit. It was worth paying attention to in the future.

“Are you still willing to give me lessons?” he asked, sounding genuinely concerned.

“Yes, of course,” she said immediately. Then she took a fortifying breath and added, “But I did want to ask one thing in return. A payment of a sort.”

His expression turned cautious. “What is it?”

Leaning forward a little she spoke in a rush so as to get it all out before she could change her mind. “For every magic session we have I get to ask you one question about the Jotuns. And you have to promise not to be offended.”

He gave a little half smile. “Do you you plan on asking offensive questions?”

“No! But this place and your culture are all very new to me and I don’t now where the booby traps are.”

He looked away again, as if weighing her suggestion carefully. Then he smiled again. “I suppose we can be a treacherous bunch.” He looked back at her. “I agree to your terms.” He leaned forward, bringing himself closer to her. “How should we start?”

She studied him a moment, tracing the arcs and lines of his facial markings with her gaze. Somewhere along the way she had stopped finding his skin and eyes strange and started to become fascinated by the differences between them. It was going to be very hard to teach him; she found him oddly distracting.

Shifting her gaze down to his hands - which were no less fascinating than his face but at least less intense - and said, “Show me how you make the ice?”

He held his hand out and made a slight motion, more a flex of his arm then a proper magical gesture. A sharp spike of ice formed in his hand. Like a large icicle, only grown in an instant instead of overnight. It was obviously a weapon, a deadly thing. But the creation of it was quite remarkable, from a magical perspective.

Hesitantly, she reached out and touched the ice, finding it cold, but no colder than more mundane ice. She resisted testing the tip for sharpness. When she leaned back, he flexed his hand and the ice cracked and fell away.

“It’s rather like conjuring,” she said, with more authority than she really felt. She glanced about the room and spotted a taper candle and holder on a shelf near the doorway. Retrieving it, she placed it on the low table by their seats and resettled on her lounge. “Let’s see how close it is. Do whatever you do to call the ice only try to bring the candle to your hand instead.”

The look he gave her was rather skeptical, but he opened his palm and focused on the candle. For a few tense heartbeats nothing happened. Syn pictured asking Frigga for help, probably getting lectured for trying to teach a Jotun magic.

Then the candle stick wobbled and became encased in ice.

They both jumped, then she began to laugh and Loki gave a noise of startled triumph. The smile he gave her was wide and pleased and seemed to stop her breath in her chest. She had not realized he was handsome until that moment.

“It’s not exactly what you asked me to do,” he said, his self depreciation belied but the still brilliant smile he wore.

“No,” she admitted, forcing air into her lungs. “But I’d say it’s a good start.”

They spent the better part of an hour watching the poor, blasted candle stick go through all manner of indignities. Mostly being frozen. But he also sent it to just about every corner of the room. It snapped twice and both times she managed to repair it. Generally what one magic broke another’s could heal, which was a lesson Loki definitely wasn’t ready for yet.

But at the end, just when she was about to call an end to the day’s lesson, he managed to conjure the candle from the table to his hand. It lay there perfect, untouched, and entirely free of ice.

They both stared at it a moment. Then Syn lifted her arms over her head and gave a little victory shout. Loki laughed at her enthusiasm, closing his fist around the stick like it was a trophy. And, she supposed in a way, it was.

“Now that you’ve done it once it will come easier,” she told him, watching as he set the taper back on the table.

“If I can remember what I did right that time.” He was staring at the candle intently.

“You will. And one day it will become second nature to you. Instinct.”

He turned that intense scarlet gaze to her. “You’re a good teacher.”

She felt her cheeks heat at the compliment and smiled, feeling oddly shy. “A teacher is only as good as her student.”

There was something unreadable in his eyes for a moment and she felt breathless again. Then he broke the spell with a smile and leaned back. “I believe I owe you a question.”

She almost had to shake herself to remember all of the numerous questions she had bouncing around in her head. Reminding herself there would be other opportunities to ask, she said the first one to come to her head. “Our warriors tell tales of Jotun skin burning theirs in battle. But I’ve had no problem being touched by any of you. The little girls spend hours braiding my hair. Are the soldiers just telling tales?”

His face went unreadable again, but he held his hand out. “It’s a part of the ice magic.” His hand didn’t seem to visibly change, but as she watched little wisps of steam came off the skin, as if it had become so cold it made the air around it steam.

With all the naive impulsiveness of a sister who had gamely sniffed every foul thing her brothers had thrust at her and demanded, “Smell this,” she reached out and touched the back of Loki’s hand with her fingertips.

It burned. Not because it was hot, but because it was so cold. When Syn was a little girl she’d been in a snowball fight and lost a glove. She’d held a handful of snow in her bare palm for several minutes, waiting for one of her friends to come around the corner. By the time her victim had received her snow to the face Syn’s hand had gone numb, then burned and prickled with pain. This was like those few minutes distilled into one second.

She snatched her hand back at the same moment Loki pulled away with a shout of surprised. The tips of her fingers were black and scorched looking. Most of the pain had dulled with the death of the nerve endings but the wound was ugly.

“What were you thinking?” Loki asked, sounding horrified.

That was actually a very good question. The answer was probably that she hadn’t been thinking much of anything. “It’s all right,” she told him, flooding her hand with healing magic. The burns flared with pain a moment, then the gold light of her magic faded and her fingers were marked with little more then red spots of irritation.

Loki stared at her hand a moment, then reached out and touched his fingertips to hers. His skin was back to normal, cooler than hers but not actually uncomfortable. He took her hand and turned it this way and that, as if looking for where the frost burns might be hiding.

“I can teach you healing later,” she said, almost amused. “I’m fine. The red marks will fade in a day or so.”

“There is no healing magic here. Not like that, anyway.” He released her hand, looking embarrassed at his interest.

“Well, you seem quite a bit sturdier than Alfans or even Asgardians. I doubt you need it.” It was possible he wouldn’t be able to do healing magic at all, much as she couldn’t create illusions or wear glamours. She didn’t say that to Loki so as not to discourage him.

He was smiling warmly at her now, confirming that had been the right choice. “It appears I have a great deal to learn,” he said, sounding very excited at the idea.

“And I’ll be happy to teach you.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the late chapter. Sunday was my son's birthday and we were very busy!

_He crouched beside the pool and taught her some of his tricks. She smiled and laughed and seemed quite enchanted with him. But before he could try to coax her from the spring and into his arms, a group of bandits approached._  
 _“Fear not,” Tanet assured the maid. “I’ll not let any harm come to you.”_  
 _The bandits laughed at his assurances, drawing swords and spears._  
 _The maid laughed as well, and patted his hand before bracing hers on the edge of the pool and vaulting out of it._  
 _Water poured down her body, but rather than leaving her nude, it coalesced into a gown of white and silver, so that when she stood at the edge of the spring she was dressed from shoulder to toe._  
 _Tanet and the bandits stared at her as she slowly bent and gathered up a handful of marsh grass that grew at the edge of the pool. She hummed softly, twisting it, until it hardened into a wood handled scythe that glinted in the afternoon light. It was then Tanet realized he had not been flirting with a common maiden, but Lyra herself, the First among the Gods._  
\--Excerpt from “When Tanet Met the Maid” from the Tales of the Gods

 

It was probably time to concede that he was a little obsessed with magic.

Loki had never been the kind to get stuck on a single topic or hobby. In fact, he hadn’t really had a hobby before now. Much as his parents would have liked him to have some sort of specialty, either war-faring or political, he had stuck to general knowledge and history. No one topic or talent had ever grabbed a hold of him the way magic had.

For the last four months he had thought of very little besides the magic Syn was teaching him. He had made great progress in the relatively short time. She had even written to Frigga and her mother for books to help him with skills she did not possess, such as illusions and glamour. Illusions especially intrigued him and he was voraciously pouring through old volumes in an effort to learn as much about them as he could.

Of course, in thinking of magic he often thought of Syn. It was only natural, she was his teacher and they were spending a great deal of time together in the pursuit of his practice. She was a patient and upbeat teacher, even when he repeatedly failed or asked her questions she had no answer to. She did everything in her power to find him those answers, though, which was more than he could say for most of the tutors he had had.

And in return, he answered her questions, both big and small. It was stunning how little the other realms knew about his people. There were so many misconceptions he had had to dismantle before explaining things properly. Intellectually, he’d known Jotunheim was isolationist by nature, but the depth of Syn’s ignorance indicated that some sort of outreach might be in order. Perhaps her ambassadorship _had_ been well meant by Odin and Hoenir. Perhaps it was the first step in the realms understanding each other.

They hadn’t spoken much of politics. He had the sense that Laufey frightened her a bit, which he was sure was Laufey’s intention. She had gamely sat in on the last few council meetings, making faces at him from the other side of the room. In the last one they had managed to send notes to each other, teleporting the same piece of paper from one to the other. It had been, by far, the most enjoyable council meeting he had endured.

He heard commotion before he had reached her parlor doorway. Stepping in, he found it empty. Odd, as she was usually waiting for him to begin their session. The commotion was coming from her bedchamber, beyond the parlor. The door to that room was cracked and through the opening he could just see Syn and two Jotun servants moving about.

Propriety forbade him from entering the bed chamber of a woman not his family, especially uninvited. By all rights he should turn and go and leave her to whatever was causing the flurry of activity. Instead, he crossed the parlor and rapped sharply on her bedchamber door, loud enough to be heard. She and the maids stopped immediately and turned to look. To his relief, Syn smiled when she saw it was him and put the arm load of what appeared to be clothes onto her bed and came to him, slipping through the door and closing it behind her.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize the time,” she said, looking up at him. “I’m afraid I need to cancel our lesson today. And possibly the next several.”

His brow furrowed and a stab of concern pierced his chest. “Is something wrong?”

“I have to go home for a little while.” She offered up a weak smile and spread her hands. “My mother throws a large party at midsummer every year and she’d be upset if I missed it. Plus it’s my birthday soon and she always fusses when she can’t see me-”

After all this time with her he knew when she was dodging. Her curse prevented her from making outright lies, but he had learned she was a master of loopholes. So, the things she was saying were technically true, but he was confident they weren’t _all_ the truth. “What aren’t you saying?”

Her mouth snapped shut and she looked at him, eyes wide in surprise. Then her mouth twisted in a wry smile. “I see you’ve caught onto my tricks. Most people take longer to notice.”

“I am a very observant man, as well you know.” He reached out and tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear. “What’s wrong?”

She sighed. “If I tell you, you must swear not to tell your father.”

“That’s my favorite kind of information. Secrets to keep from my father.” He gestured for her to continue.

Her shoulders slumped a little. “My father is ill. Not grievously, but the healers are concerned. His heart is not what it once was. My mother is fretting and wants all of us home for midsummer. To be honest, I think she’s making far too much out of it. But it’s easier to acquiesce than to fight about it.”

He could see why they didn’t want his father to know that. Laufey could use any sign of weakness to his advantage. It was possible he might not make a move, but it wasn’t likely. So he nodded solemnly, “I won’t tell a soul. Though I am sorry that you have to go.” That was, perhaps, the greatest understatement he had ever uttered. “Do you have any idea how long you’ll be gone?” It was only centuries of living in his father’s court that kept the question polite and neutral.

She sighed, glancing back at the closed door to her room. “I’m not sure. Presuming his health improves, perhaps a month.”

“And if it does not improve?”

Her green gaze returned to his and she gave a sad, small smile. “In that case, I suppose it would be in the gods’ hands.”

The phrasing surprised a smile out of him. “We have been wearing off on you, haven’t we?”

“Oh, more than you know,” she said, smile growing happier. “I fear when I get home I’ll feel as much a stranger as I did when I first came here.”

Unable to resist, Loki lifted a hand and tucked some of her hair behind her ear. “I’m sure you’ll rise to the occasion.” Her cheeks pinked a bit and he could feel the heat of her skin against his finger tips.

He let his hand drop. “When are you leaving? I’d like to see you off.”

She glanced back at the door again. “As soon as we’re finished packing, I think. Another hour at the longest.”

“I’ll leave you to it, then.” He inclined his head in a partial bow and let him out of the parlor, hearing her retreat to her room again as he did so.

He spent the hour wandering about palace, at loose ends as he waited for Syn to be ready to leave. He felt oddly adrift and chastised himself at the strength of his reaction. Syn had been here less than half a year. He should not be so attached. Certainly, he would miss their lessons. He had learned so much in a short time, the idea of having to stop and interrupt his progress was irritating a best.

But it wasn’t just that, of course, much as he might like to pretend it was. He would miss her. Her odd brown hair and pale skin. She had grown even paler in her months here, living under ground. He found the change lovely, her cheeks a light alabaster touched with rose. He would miss her odd questions and the conversations they spurred. She made him look at his world differently, with a keener, more critical eye. He would especially miss the honest, adorable faces she made when she tried some new food or another.

This was silly. He was growing melancholy for no reason at all. She would be back. She was the ambassador here, she wasn’t leaving forever. Everything she had said to him indicated she wanted to come back. He could last a month without her. And if it was longer than a month. . . well that was fine, too. He’d grown used to her being here, he would simply grow used to her being gone again.

The hour passed faster than he would have liked, even with his dark, spinning thoughts. He found himself at the foot of the main stairs and waited there until Syn arrived, two servants carrying a small trunk. They deposited at the foot of the stairs and he gestured that they could leave before turning to Syn. “All set?”

She sighed, mouth a thin, unforgiving line. “I don’t want to leave,” she confessed, eyeing the stairs. “I keep hoping someone will tell me all is well and to forget the whole thing.”

Loki couldn’t express how much he agreed with that wish. Saying it out loud would likely only add to her grief, so he put on a brave face. “I’m sure you’ll be back before you know it.”

“Of course,” she agreed easily. With a little shift to straighten her shoulders she gestured to the staircase. “Shall we?”

He nodded and bent to pick up her trunk, but she stopped him with a flick of her fingers. The trunk disappeared in a flare of gold. Loki glanced back at her and she shrugged before turning to start the climb up the long staircase.

Summer in Jotunheim was a wet, humid season. For s few months the temperature rose slightly above freezing and snow in the lower elevations thawed, as did rivers and lakes. In the height of the season - which was half that of most realms - a thick fog blanketed the ground, adding to the realm's ominous reputation. It was the breeding season for most of the natural wildlife and hunting was forbidden until the temperatures dropped again, to give the animals time to birth their young. Fishing was plentiful, the creatures having been left unmolested the rest of the year.

When Syn and Loki reached the surface they found her trunk waiting just beside the stone throne, sitting in a puddle that lapped a few inches up the sides of the luggage. Syn let out an exasperated breath at the sight and Loki politely hid his smile. 

She turned to him. "I suppose this is goodbye, then."

The words caused a sharp pang somewhere in the vicinity of his heart and he offered, "Perhaps we could agree on the more hopeful 'until next time?'"

She smiled at that and gave a little nod. "Yes, that's much better. Until next time, then."

There was suddenly a thousand things he wanted to say to her, most of them far too emotional for their current acquaintance. He reminded himself that this was not the last time he would see her. If nothing else, they were both members of royalty. Even if she didn't come back as ambassador there would surely be some realm function or another that would put them in the same room at the same time.

He took a step back and bowed to her formally. "Until next time, my lady Syn,"

Her smile was warm, but slightly crooked, as if she were keeping some sort of secret from him. Before he could interpret it further, she dropped into her own formal curtsy, then looked upward. In a bright flare of gold the Bifrost light swallowed her up.

Loki tipped his head back to watch the light recede, leaving only a swirl of storm clouds in its wake. That damned smile would haunt him the entire time she was gone, he was sure of it.

*

There was nothing like being away from home for an extended period to bring sharply into focus all the things one liked or disliked about said home. Syn had never noticed it quite as sharply when she was apprenticing in Asgard with Frigga. Asgard, for the most part, was quite similar to Alfheim and so the differences and homesickness had been less acute. Jotunheim had been such a sharp contrast and she had made an effort to immerse herself so completely in the new culture that coming home was a shock to her senses.

For one thing it was entirely too bright. Living underground for almost half a year had made her photosensitive to an almost crippling degree. There was light in Jotunheim, from torches and chandeliers to skylights cut into the rock, allowing what little sunlight there was to filter through. Loki had once taken her to see one of those sky lights being prepared, so she could see the complicated arrangement of mirrors and crystal that helped amplify the thin light. It had been a remarkable feat of engineering, as so much of their technology was. Indeed, the light underground was ample enough that she had never noticed the lack of true sunlight. Not until she'd stood blinking and squinting in an Alfan summer afternoon on her arrival.

Her mother had been thrilled to see her, greeting her as if Syn was returning from an odyssey in Hel and not an ambassador post to a allied, if not entirely friendly, realm. There had been hugging and weeping and threats of a feast until Boe and Syn's father had convinced her a quiet family meal was better and the feasting should be saved for mid summer at the end of the month. Syn had been eternally grateful for the rescue.

Her father had felt a bit thinner when she embraced him, yet no less robust, managing to lift her off her feet with the force of his hug. She had missed them all, and spent her first few hours excitedly telling them what she had seen and learned on Jotunheim. In return, her mother caught her up on the court gossip: engagements, births, deaths, and the typical drama. Boe had chipped in with relevant political intrigue. Her little brother appeared in the midst of it, and she was forced to stop and exclaim over how big he had gotten before the conversation could continue.

Due to the abrupt nature of her departure, she hadn't had time to gather proper gifts for everyone, but she had brought a basket of her favorite fruits and two books of Jotun myths to add to her mother's library. Her brothers attacked the fruit as if it were a challenge, taking large bites of each. They both seemed surprised at how good they tasted and the butter apples disappeared in moments. Her mother was skeptical of the food, but delighted at the books, as Syn had expected.

The next day was spent visiting with friends and telling all her stories over again. Where her family had listened politely, her contemporaries were far less polite, asking questions ranging from the banal to bizarre. Reminding herself how ignorant she had been of Jotun culture at the beginning, Syn answered them as best she could. But it was hard to ignore the underlying sense of prejudice behind some of them. There was no innocent motive behind asking if her hosts were cannibals or capable of speech and thought. Asking how tall a giant got was one thing, asking if they were civilized was quite another. She told herself she was overtired and reading too much into simple words, but cut the visit short anyway.

For a few days she was left to her own devices, readapting to life on Alfheim. She spent long hours with her mother, planning the upcoming mid summer feast and touring the gardens to see the new arrivals. If the queen had any vocation - other than the running of the palace and the raising of her children, both full time jobs in their own right - it was that of horticulturist. Her garden was renowned throughout the realms and botanists and gardeners came from all over for advice on methodology and to try to cajole her out of a clipping or seedling.

She and Syn had a lively discussion one afternoon on what, if any, of her plants would survive in the thin, indirect light of Syn's rooms on Jotunheim. Now that she had seen her daughter was happy and well cared for on the foreign realm, she seemed far more at ease with the idea of her ambassadorship. She did comment on Syn's pallor, which Syn herself hadn't noticed. She protested it was no worse than the loss of color she got most winters and her mother said no more about it.

Over a week after her return and a few days before the mid summer feast, Boe found her in the library. He took a seat across from her, mouth pulled to a grim line, and she put her book down at once. Boe was clever and a brilliant general and strategist, a good and well trained heir for the throne, but he'd never spent more time than absolutely necessary in the library. He'd been brilliant at convincing their tutors to let them study out in the gardens or even sprawled on chairs in the courtyard. Anything but being cooped up inside a moment more than needed. The fact he'd taken a seat, and with that expression on his face, meant something was serious,

"The Allfather and his son have come early for the feast," he said without preamble once he was sure he had her attention.

Her immediate reaction was pleasure at the prospect of seeing Thor again. Though she and his compatriots had gotten off to a rocky start when she'd first arrived in Asgard, she had left considering him, Sif, and the Warriors Three good friends. It would be nice to have time to catch up with him before the madness of the feast began. 

Based on her brother's expression, however, that was probably not going to happen. "Is something wrong, do you think?"

Boe steepled his fingers, leaning back in the heavy leather chair he sat in. "I'm not sure. Father was ill just before we sent for you to return, but his health has only improved sense." He looked at her sharply. "Unless they've told you something they haven't told me?"

She was surprised at the question, but perhaps it wasn't entirely unthinkable. She was a healer by nature, knew more about it than her mother, all things considered. It was possible, if unlikely, that their parents would discuss a serious illness with her before sharing details with her brothers. "No," she said. "I know no more than you. To the best of my knowledge he's much improved."

Boe nodded solemnly, gazing off to the side, lost in thought. "It could have something to do with succession. Odin gave Thor certain privileges and responsibility not long ago, this health scare could have prompted Father to consider doing the same with me,"

One thing she had missed, not being home, were these chats with her brother. While their relationship with their father was far from adversarial, Hoenir did, by necessity, keep some things close to the chest until the time was right to share them. Since they were children she and Boe had made a game of trying to predict what behind the scenes machinations were going on. As they grew older, it became less of a game and more practice for the inevitable day Boe took over the throne. Syn suspected their father knew about it and occasionally hid things on purpose, to encourage their talks.

"If it was just that, he needn’t have brought Thor with him. I don't imagine the crowned prince needs or wants to know how the sausage is made."

Her brother frowned and tipped his head back. "That's a good point." He was quiet a moment, then he looked at her again. "Perhaps it has something to do with you."

"Me?" she squeaked.

"Yes, you. Perhaps you're about the be betrothed."

"To Thor? I'll run back to Jotunheim if they try it. Hide in the wilds with the bligesnipes,"

Boe laughed. "I thought you liked Thor."

She huffed out a breath. "I do. I like you, too, but I don't want to marry you."

That prompted a new round of laughter. "Poor man. Hero of Nordheim and he'd be no match for you." He shook his head. "I'm probably wrong, anyway. They've only just made you ambassador to the Frost Giants, they won't toss aside your work just for a convenient marriage,"

Syn started to laugh, then abruptly sobered, staring at him. A moment later, Boe's thoughts caught up with hers and he returned the stare. "The Jotuns?" he said finally, face uncertain.

"They did pull me home rather suddenly. Have you heard any rumors about war?"

Boe shook his head sharply. "None. Have there been tensions on your end?"

She sat back, considering the question carefully. Admittedly, she had spent most of her time with the less political members of the royal family. Loki and Mara weren't active in Laufey and his council’s day to day workings but they were kept abreast of them, as was Maiza to one degree or another. Syn herself had attended several public meetings and had found them as dry and mundane as her father's. That didn't mean, of course, that there weren't machinations going on behind the scenes. Far more politics happened in the shadows than in the spot light. But she felt that she had made enough friends that she would have heard some sort of whisper if war was imminent. At the very least, Loki would have -

Oh, she'd been trying so hard not to think of him. In all the stories she'd told involving him she had simply referred to him as the prince or Laufey's son. And she had made a conscious effort not to tell too many stories involving him so that no one would suspect how close they had become. It had been so hard to say goodbye to him and she had sensed it was the same for him. She was ashamed to admit it, but part of the reason she was relieved her father was improving so much was that it meant she would be able to return to Jotunheim sooner rather than later. Intellectually, she knew it was silly to miss someone so badly when she had only known him a handful of months. But she was beginning to suspect that where Loki was concerned, it wasn't her head she was thinking with.

"I've heard no rumblings of war or attack. To the best of my knowledge, dealings between the Jotuns and the Aesir are as amiable as they've ever been. Perhaps even better, I have managed to make a friend or two in my time there."

Boe's face grew stern and serious again. "Then perhaps the instigator isn't the Jotuns."

Before she could respond, or even properly wrap her mind around his meaning, there was a rap at the door and a servant entered. “His majesty had requested both your presences in his study.” He paused for dramatic effect. “Immediately.” 

Syn and Boe exchanged a look, slowly getting to their feet. “Well,” her brother said with false cheer. “Perhaps all our questions are about to be answered.”


	9. Chapter 9

_The roots of the conflict between the Jotun and the Aesir has been lost to history. Theories abound, however. The leading belief is some sort of assassination, either successful or attempted, permanently soured relations. This historian, however, has his doubts. The murder of a realm leader, or even an important noble would have been notable, remembered centuries later. History is rife with such events, why would one that fundamentally changed realm politics be so easily forgotten?_  
 _A rising theory, and the one held by this author, is that it was a failed marriage. Perhaps arranged, perhaps initiated in love that then soured. Such an event would be covered up by those involved for fear of embarrassing all parties. But the scar and bad blood would last for generations._  
\--Excerpt from Fire and Ice: The Wars Between the Realms

Syn was an adult by any definition of the word and still the long hallway leading up to her father’s study fill her with instinctive dread. The study was the site of numerous childhood confessions, lectures and punishments. It had been decades since she’d been grounded or lost dessert privileges, but apparently the memories remained.

Boe tossed her an awkward smile as they reached the door and she realized he was probably thinking the same thing. He’d made this walk far more often than she had.

She knocked on the door and, at her father’s response, pushed it open. Inside, their father was at his usual spot behind his huge iron wood desk. In the guest chairs she and Boe had sat in during all those childhood lectures were Thor and Odin. All three men looked up when they entered.

Thor jumped up from his chair, grinning. “Princess!” he rumbled.

Syn stepped forward to greet him with a hug. “It’s good to see you, Thor.” She gave an undignified squeak when he lifted her off her feet.

Boe greeted the visiting Asgardians far more formally before everyone retook their seats. Syn and Boe sank into smaller, less comfortable chairs to one side of their father’s desk and waited expectantly to find out why they had been called in.

“Ambassador Syn,” Odin began, confirming that she and Boe had been on the right track with their speculation. “How would you asses the political climate of Jotunheim?”

The four men all watched her expectantly, waiting for her answer. Syn had the faint, troubling feeling that there was far more to the Allfather’s question than appeared on the surface, so she took her time in choosing her words. “Stable. Laufey may not be loved but seems to be generally respected. His hold on his people is strong and he works to keep abreast of goings on in the realm. Some of his council members are a bit out of touch, but not to an abusive degree.” She stopped there, looking from Odin to her father and back.

There was another long pause while the kings seemed to digest her words. “And his heir? Loki?”

She tried to keep her face as calm and neutral as it had been when she spoke of Laufey. Based on the slightly confused but very interested look Boe was giving her, she wasn’t entirely sure she was succeeding. “He’s very different from his father. He stays aware of Laufey’s machinations but tries to stay out of them for the most part.” She searched for relevant information that wouldn’t reveal how close she and the Jotun prince had become. She wasn’t ashamed of their friendship, but until she knew the motive behind the questioning she wasn’t going to admit to more than she had to.

“What is his attitude towards the Aesir?” her father asked. His tone was quiet and deceptively gentle but, to her shame, she didn’t trust him any more than she did Odin.

“Curiosity,” she said. “He’s been nothing but polite and welcoming to me, as have most of the Jotun I’ve encountered.” No reason to mention the more antagonistic sisters. 

“Can I ask what this is all about?” Boe said and she cast him a grateful look.

The kings and Thor put far too much thought into their response. Finally, their father spoke. “Our relations with the Jotun have long been fraught. In your lifetime alone we have been on the verge of war a dozen times. Hard as it is to admit, Odin and I are not as young as we used to be. If there were a time for Laufey to try to attack it would be while we are weakened and not yet trained our heirs to step in.”

That sort of action didn’t sound like the Laufey she knew, though, admittedly, the kings had known him far longer and likely better than her. Before she could voice her doubts, Boe spoke up, “Are you thinking of beating him to the punch?”

“No one wants to start a war,” Odin responded.

There was no shadow of lie on him when he spoke, not precisely. But Syn still didn’t entirely believe him. “Laufey has not been the most welcoming noble I’ve ever met. But I have seen no sign of him planning anything.”

Her father smiled indulgently. “We didn’t think he’d be planning his first attacks in front of you, pet.”

Syn’s hackles raised at the tone. “Perhaps if I’m to be included in these sort of meetings you should speak to me as an ambassador of the realms and not your daughter in braids.”

Boe and Thor both looked down to hide smiles. Odin didn’t bother to hide his mirth and her father looked suitably chastised. “Of course,” he said. “My apologies.”

“How well do you know the prince?” Thor asked her.

The question cooled the glow of triumph she’d felt at successfully scolding her father. For an instant, she wondered if Thor somehow knew or at least suspected something was going on between her and Loki. She tried to tell herself it didn’t matter, nothing untoward had happened between them, but it was possible that her father and Odin would disapprove of her teaching him magic.

She didn’t want this conversation to become about her activities on Jotunheim, so she would need to phrase her answer very carefully, to keep her words truthful without damning herself. “He has been extremely welcoming to me and has willingly answered a great many questions. I’ve spent a great deal of time with him.”

“Do you think he will continue his father’s adversarial foreign policies?” Odin asked.

“No,” she said immediately. “He hates his father’s methods. He would be open to far more peaceful relations.” She paused, then added, “Unless one of you gave him a reason not to.”

Odin glanced at his son, then Hoenir after that little pronouncement. “Perhaps there is hope after all,” he said after a moment.

Syn’s father smiled and looked at her, pride obvious in his expression. “So it would seem.”

The topic changed to far drier topic and she, Boe and Thor were excused. The boys flanked her as they walked down the hall. “Do you know what all that was about?” Boe asked Thor.

The Asgardian shook his head. “Bits and pieces. They expected a response from Laufey after Syn was sent as an ambassador. That he’s been quiet has raised their suspicions.” He tossed them a crooked smile. “The curse of growing old. Even good news looks like bad.”

“And their interest in Loki?” Boe pressed and Syn felt a flicker of gratitude that he had asked so she didn’t have to.

Thor shrugged. “Like it or not, our fathers will not rule forever. Our time is coming, likely within the next century or two. Loki will rule Jotunheim while we rule our realms. If he is going to start the wars all over again then we need to be prepared for that.”

“He won’t,” Syn said quietly, mind still on the interrogation she had just received.

“That’s the hope,” Thor said, sounding vaguely placating. “And we are trying to do our part to maintain peace. Like sending you as ambassador.”

“I suppose a politician that can’t lie is an excellent olive branch,” Boe mused.

“They didn’t send me to Jotunheim because I couldn’t like to Laufey,” Syn said, a grim realization settling over her. “They sent me there so I couldn’t lie to _them_.”

The boys stopped and stared at her but neither protested her words, confirming the logic of it. “I’m not an ambassador,” she continued. “Not entirely, anyway. I’m a spy.”

*

“Are you going to mope around like someone strangled your pet forever, or just until Syn returns?”

Loki grit his teeth and turned from the blank page he had been glaring at and refocused his ire at his sister. “I am not moping.”

Muru smiled, leaning a shoulder on the doorway of his parlor. “Do you prefer the word sulk?”

“Not particularly, no. As a matter of fact, I prefer it when people don’t comment on my mood or attitudes.”

She came into the room despite him having given no indication she was welcome. Most people at least pretended to fear his wrath. He supposed that was one of the benefits of being a beloved sister. “Honestly, she’s only been gone a month,” she said, flopping into the chair across from him.

In point of fact, it had been almost seven weeks, which was closer to two months than one. He didn’t think telling Muru that would help his argument at all, though. “I am usually restless in the summer,” he said instead. “There’s no reason to assume it’s connected to Syn.”

His sister tilted her head, studying him a moment. “No. There’s that certain flavor of pining to your grumpiness this year.”

“I’m quite certain I don’t pine any more than I mope.”

She laughed. “It’s all right to admit you like her, brother. I think it’s sweet.”

Loki was entirely certain no one had called him sweet since he was an infant and possibly not even then. Muru had a soft heart, though, perhaps he shouldn’t begrudge her romanticizing his relationship with Syn.

And yes, all right, he probably was sulking a bit. Summer was always a hard time. The melting snow and fog kept most people underground and breeding season meant no hunts to distract his least favorite sister. The palace often felt crowded and stifling and Loki was generally at loose ends. He swore he had read every book in the library and walked every inch of the halls. His mother often said he needed some sort of craft, as she had her weaving. He had tried a few, enjoyed wood working to some degree, but not enough to hold his interest for long.

This year, he had thought to try his hand at writing, thinking it would distract him sufficiently while also serving a purpose. He’d begun work on a book of magic for other Jotuns who might have an interest. He couldn’t be the only one who wished to expand their repertoire beyond ice knives and nature magic. The words had come slowly, though and he was stymied by his lack of practical knowledge. He had lists of questions he needed to ask Syn when she returned and his manuscript had large, frustrating gaps.

He did miss her. At first he told himself it was just the change in routine. He had grown accustomed to seeing her for their lessons every day and with her gone it left a gap in his schedule. But as time passed, he found himself missing _her_. Several times he’d thought he heard her laugh or a glimpse of her odd, light hair in the crowd. A few days ago he’d had to resist the utterly mad urge to sneak into her chambers for a whiff of her scent, that peculiar, fresh floral smell that he associated only with her.

She would be back soon. There was no reason to think otherwise. She said she would only stay longer if her father’s health worsened and Loki had heard no such news. Obviously, Alfheim would not be announcing their king’s impending death to all and sundry, but surely the word would have gotten to the other rulers. If nothing else he had faith Syn would have found some way to tell him she was being delayed.

He needed to be patient. He was good at being patient.

Three days later he was still patiently glaring at his ever more frustrating manuscript when a herald came to tell him his father requested his presence in the throne room. Loki went with all the enthusiasm of the convict going to see the headsman. In all his many years he had never been summoned to the throne for a good reason.

Laufey was alone when Loki entered. The throne on the surface, where the king greeted visitors - especially unwanted ones - was huge, carved from stone and very imposing. The one in this room inside the palace was smaller, made of gnarled juniper wood and thoughtfully carved and gilt with gold. It wasn’t really his father’s style and Loki occasionally wondered why it had never been replaced by something more stately and ominous.

He was lounging in the chair more than sitting in it and watched Loki approach, not speaking until he had reached the foot of the throne. He hoped his father didn’t expect him to take a knee, he was the one who had send for him.

“I’m told,” Laufey began, speaking slowly and precisely. “That you spent a great deal of time with the little ambassador when she was here.”

Loki didn’t bother to confirm or deny it. Laufey’s spies were notoriously infallible, they would not give him a report they weren’t entirely sure was true. There was no need to confirm it and denying it would embarrass them both. He waited patiently for the king to get to the point.

“I know you hate to involve yourself in my petty political games.” There was just the right amount of mocking in the words to ensure Loki knew he was being quoted. “But I was curious as to your take on her.”

In the space of a few heart beats Loki tried to think of every possible angle to the question. He had long known his father was suspicious of Syn. The only surprise was that it had taken him this long to begin the interrogation. He hoped this wasn’t a sign Syn was not going to be welcomed back.

“She’s clever,” he began, because he wanted to make sure Laufey knew she was not going to be easy prey. “Respectful. Eager to learn.”

“Loyal?” Laufey asked with an arched brow.

“It’s never come up. I would imagine so.”

There was the slightest pause before Laufey asked his next question. "And you? What are your feelings towards her?"

"None of your concern," Loki responded immediately. The speed and vehemence of his response probably tipped his hand more than he would have liked, but his father would have seen right through any dithering.

Laufey stood slowly and Loki braced for a blow. Instead, the aging king strolled slowly down the steps of the throne and paced to one side of the room, were an ornate mobile of carved stone and blown glass twirled lazily. Loki had been embarrassingly old before he realized the display was an artistic representation of the realms and not just an abstract collection of shapes.

"When you were small," Laufey began thoughtfully. "You found a sick fox kit out on a walk with you mother. You insisted on bringing it home and trying to nurse it back to health, despite even your mother telling you it was hopeless, that the mother vixen had given it up for a reason. Do you remember?"

Frankly, he was still reeling at the news that Laufey remembered. "Vaguely.”

"For three days you nursed it. I don't think you slept the entire time. You even left your favorite puzzle box at the shrine of Lyra, in hopes she would spare it. It died, of course, and you were inconsolable in your weeping. Your mother asked me to talk to you as nothing she said seemed to make a difference to you. Do you remember what i said to you?"

The incident had come back to him more fully as his father had spoken. He could vividly recall the moment he realized the kit had died. The sorrow and disappointment. The utter frustration at something he had tried so hard to save slipping through his fingers. When his father had come to him he had expected a scolding or perhaps even a warning slap for his tears.

Instead, his father had crouched on the floor beside him and placed one large hand on his back and spoken in the quietest, gentlest tone he had ever heard from the gruff king.

"You told me our realm was harsh and unforgiving. And that weak things did not survive. That to take them early was mercy on Lyra's part and not a cruelty." The words had been oddly comforting in the midst of his mother soothing platitudes. It had never before occurred to him that death could be the merciful end to pain and not and abrupt end to a life rather lived. It had made building the pyre for the kit and sending his ashes to the winds seem like an act of kindness. Of service to the fox and to Lyra, who now held him.

"You also told me it was unwise to get attached to fragile things."

Laufey nodded, lifting a hand to twirl the jade charm that represented Alfheim on the mobile. "You will be king of this realm someday. You may not like all the lessons I have given you, but they were all well meant. To prepare you for the day you take the throne."

"I know." And he did. Laufey did not teach in the gentle riddles and hints of his mother, guiding Loki to find the decision on his own. Laufey laid down the rules, blunt and cruel as a cudgel. And left Loki to pick up the pieces. His mother's methods maddened him but he learned the lessons well. He rather preferred his father's way. At least then the message was clear.

"To my surprise, the ambassador returns today," Laufey said,  and Loki had to stop his jaw from dropping. "I have pressing business in an outlying colony and cannot greet her. As my heir, it's fitting you do so in my stead. My steward will let you know when it is time."

"Yes, sir." His voice sounded normal and he hadn't stuttered in the slightest. Loki would consider that a win.

Laufey waved a hand, dismissing him, and Loki gratefully headed for the door.

"Son," Laufey stopped him before he could escape. Loki half turned to him. "Be careful of your attachments."

Loki nodded, feeling a pit in his stomach as he took his leave.

Hours later, his father’s words were still twisting around in his head as he stood in the late summer mist, waiting for the Bifrost to land. There was no doubt in his mind what his father’s meaning had been. Laufey was capable of subtlety, but certainly hadn’t been using it this morning. He didn’t want Loki to grow fond of the Alfan ambassador. She was fragile, and temporary. He had no rights to her.

It was good advice, if selfishly motivated. Most likely Laufey still didn’t trust Syn and wanted his son and heir to stay away from her and any fallout she might cause. Loki didn’t think she had ulterior motives for being here. But he would do well to remember her position here was temporary. She was young and pretty and of royal blood. She would have to go back home someday. He had missed her when she was only gone for a visit. What would losing her forever do?

The Rainbow Bridge blazed, burning a pattern in the ground a few yards away. When it faded, he saw Syn standing there, two trunks flanking her. She blinked rapidly a moment, then saw him and grinned broadly.

“Ambassador,” he said with a slight bow.

She stepped gingerly out of the charred circle the Bifrost left and approached him. “Prince Loki. Is it just you greeting me?”

He nodded. “My father was called away on urgent business and sent me in his stead.”

The news surprised her, he could see it flicker across her face. Then she smiled widely and stepped forward, wrapping her arms around him and hugging him. “It’s good to see you, Loki,” she said softly, breath feathering against his skin.

For a moment he froze. He was used to brief touches of affection from his sisters. To his mother’s gentle touches. But for the most part, he was not touched often. Certainly not like this.

The heat of her cheek burned into the skin of his chest like a brand. Hesitantly, he wrapped his arms around her in return. One hand cupped the back of her head, fingers sinking into her thick hair. The other easily spanned her back, holding her close. She was small and slight, it should have reminded him of holding Mashira, but fraternal affection was the farthest thing from his mind.

_"It's good to see you.”_ Such a simple sentiment, an easy lie. But with her, he knew it had to be the truth. And that knowledge pierced him like a spear to the side. 

His father's warnings had come far too late.

"I missed you," he confessed and he felt her smile against his skin even before she leaned back to look at him.

"I brought presents," she told him. "For you and the sisters. Yours are boring old books, of course."

"Magic books?" he asked, unable to stop a grin from spreading across his face.

"You'll have to wait and see. Have you been practicing?"

"Of course." He kept a hand on her back as they walked to the long stairs leading down to the palace. "And I've started working on a book, for other Jotuns who might want to try their hand at magic." She gave a little noise of excitement and began to pepper him with questions as they walked.

What harm was there in attachment, after all? They were both young. They could have dozens of attachments in the years to come. And if he grieved when this one was over, that too he could handle. Pain was a part of life. It was no reason not to live it.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is one of my favorite chapters. :)
> 
> Enjoy.

_The bandits realized it as well, as they dropped to their knees, weapons falling to the mud. They begged for their lives, but the Goddess just smiled and raised a finger to her lips, shushing them. As the breath of air left her mouth, the bandits began to choke, collapsing, before a strong wind picked up. The would-be attackers seemed to shatter, like ice or glass, the shards blowing away in the wind, until there was no sign they’d been there but their discarded weapons._  
 _When Lyra turned back to Tanet, she wore an odd smile. She opened her hand and the scythe she held turned back into marsh grass as it fell._  
\--Excerpt from “When Tanet Met the Maid” from the Tales of the Gods

The end of the Jotunheim summer was actually remarkably pleasant. The weather was more like early spring in Alfheim, when the snow begins to thaw and the plants begin to wake up in the wet and mud. Muru and Maiza were delighted by the plants Syn had brought from home and her experiments in getting them the thrive in the caverns of the palace. When the worst of the summer fog cleared they took her up to the surface for long walks, introducing her to the local flora of the realm. Syn required far more layers than she was used to for a summer stroll, but she enjoyed them nonetheless.

By the time autumn had properly settled on the realms she had quite the garden growing in her parlor and the beginnings of a field guide sitting on her desk. Loki was helping her with it as she helped him with his magic guide. Muru was aware of both and indulged them in what had to be, for her, extremely boring breakfast conversation.

“Please,” Muru finally said, after the third day in a row of them discussing the buds on the winter bloom tree Syn was growing in her parlor. “Please can we discuss something else? Anything else. The harvest games, perhaps?”

Loki scowled fiercely enough that Syn actually stopped talking about her tree and asked, “What are the harvest games?”

“A celebration of brute strength and testosterone.” Loki’s tone dripped with scorn.

Muru shook her head. “It’s a competition. Well, several competitions. People challenge each other in tests of skill.” Loki snorted and his sister rolled her eyes. “And strength,” she conceded. “And afterwards there’s a masque.”

The feats of strength and skill didn’t interest her much, but the masque certainly caught her attention. “With costumes?”

“Yes.” Muru noticed her interest and warmed to the topic. “All kinds of costumes, but most people dress up as one of the gods, usually their patron.”

“We have masques at home in Alfheim,” she said. “Most people dress as animals.”

“The party is very exciting,” Muru told her. “Uninhibited. Mostly you know who everyone is, but you pretend not to. Many a scandalous affair had started at the Harvest Masque.”

“I don’t think any will be able to pretend they don’t know who you are,” Loki said, lifting a lock of Syn’s hair.

She stuck her tongue out at him, tugging her hair out of his grip. “Because I’m short, right?”

“Yes. Only that.”

Muru started to say something, then stopped abruptly. Wary, Syn twisted a little to look behind herself only to find Jana coming towards their table.

Beside her, Loki stiffened. "Be calm. Let's see what she wants."

For the most part Jana and her twin had left Syn alone. There had been snide looks in the halls and some pointed whispers when they knew she was looking. But as far as outright cruelty both had behaved themselves. She had, lately, had the feeling that they were simply biding their time for something big, but as she had no means of knowing when or what it might be, she did her best not to think of it,

It seemed it was now coming to fruition, as Jana dropped into the spot next to her at the table and said. "I challenge you for the harvest games."

Syn barely had time to be confused when, from her other side, Loki growled, "She is a guest here. You can't just challenge her."

"As ambassador she is a member of this court. And as a princess she is of equal rank with me. I can challenge her as I see fit." The words had a vaguely practiced air to them. As if she had known the exact protest he would make and had prepared for it.

Ignoring the posturing siblings for a moment, she turned to a shocked Muru and said, "Explain what's going on."

Muru cleared her throat and blinked a few times before attempting to reply. "She's challenged you to be her opponent in one of the games at the festival. It's usually competitions between friends or at least civil rivals. But by the rules anyone can challenge anyone of the same social and economic status as them. Which you and Jana are."

Syn spared a glance at the smug Jotun, before turning back to her friend. "Rules?"

Muru blew out a breath and appeared to think a moment. "You're the challenged so you can choose the weapon. In the ring that'll be the only weapon you can use. If you lose your weapon you can fight bare handed. Winner is the first one bloodied, laid unconscious or who yields. Laufey can declare a winner in the case of confusion. Cheating is considered an affront to Lyra and a very serious charge." She looked at Loki. "What am I forgetting?"

"You can appoint an avatar in your stead," he replied, still glaring at Jana.

"It's considered a sign of weakness, though," Jana added.

She was almost certainly being set up. Jana had something up her sleeve to humiliate her in the ring. Possibly just the fact she was a superior warrior and would best her easily. Syn tried to think of all she knew about the Jotun. They would respect her more if she at least tried to compete rather than sending Loki in her place. There would be witnesses, so Jana couldn't kill her outright. And small and Alfan she might be, that didn't make her untrained. At the least she'd give them a good show.

"Staves," she said firmly.

All three Jotuns turned to stare at her. "What?" Loki and Jana said in unison, then went back to scowling at each other.

Oh, had she surprised the little schemer? "Staves. Long sticks, no points at the end. It's the weapon I choose."

Jana stared at her a moment. Syn couldn’t see what Loki was doing, but imagined he was not happy with her. Muru said her name softly, then Jana grinned. “Agreed.” She jumped up. “See you in the ring,” she added before walking off.

“Are you insane?!” Loki finally snapped.

She still didn’t look at him. “Are you going to bet against me?”

“She’s an extremely talented and trained warrior. Why, in all the realms-”

Syn finally turned to look at him. “I spent over three decades in Asgard training in the royal court. Do you really think the only thing I learned was magic?”

His mouth opened and closed a few times, but no sound came out.

“You all seem to think I’m completely naive in the ways of court. I am not. I didn’t know much about Jotun society when I came here, maybe I still don’t, but I do know politics. Your sister is playing a game. Opting out will make me look weak and afraid. She’s not allowed to kill me, any injuries she does inflict will heal, and I am better than average at staves.” She flattened her palms on the table and pushed herself up to her feet. “I might even win.”

“I didn’t mean to imply you were weak,” he said quietly.

“You didn’t have to,” she told him and left the dining room.

She marched through the halls, flush with a vague sense of triumph. It carried her all the way to Maiza’s parlor. The queen looked up in surprise, but offered a faint smile when she saw her. “Syn. What can I do for you?”

“I need a dress for the fall masque,” she said. “A good one.”

The queen’s smile spread widely. “That, I can help you with.”

*

Loki spent the next two weeks watching Syn train for the harvest games. Of course, he also spent that time pretending he wasn’t watching and just happened to be spending all his time in the gym when she and Muru happened to be there. Muru wasn’t the best fighter in the world, but she’d gotten the same training as the rest of the princesses, so she had basic skills. He had to admit, from what he’d seen, Syn was actually better than her.

That did not, of course, mean she would stand a chance against Jana.

He had resisted the urge to try to put a stop to this challenge at least half a dozen times. Syn didn’t want him to do it and would likely never forgive him if he did. And she was right. Not fighting Jana would make her look weak. There were a great many things the Jotun could forgive her for. Weakness was not one of them. If his people decided she was weak she’d never be accepted.

It didn’t mean he was happy about it.

“It’s a games festival, not a funeral, love.” His mother sounded utterly exasperated. Exasperated was better than angry, which was the only emotion he was getting off of his father this morning. Whether that was a reaction to Loki’s mood or Laufey’s own reaction to the festival games he didn’t know.

In any case, the had all filed into the royal box beside the field. Loki sat beside his mother, Laufey on the other side of her, the other wives beyond him. His adult sisters lined up in front of them. Those that weren’t competing, of course.

The games started with a prayer to Lyra and Tanet, asking for their blessing and to look kindly on the competitors and their observers. When the priests had done their thing the first competitors came on the pitch.

The games started with those of lowest social status, then worked their way up the ladder. So Loki sat through endless sword fights, jousts, spear throwing contests and wrestling matches. There were, admittedly a few exciting bouts and Laufey had to rule on a handful of close calls. But for the most part it was people he didn’t know waving blades at other people he didn’t know. Perhaps he should have brought a book.

And then Jana and Syn came out.

His sister was in her usual hunting attire, high boots, leather leggings and bodice. Her staff was black stained witchwood, unembellished. Syn was in blue and black scale and leather armor. It reminded him of Asgardian armor, but with less embellishment. More streamlined. No cape. Her staff was a warm red brown wood he didn’t recognize, two hands taller than her, with a pattern of knot-work engraved along its length. Her hair had been intricately braided, most likely by Muru and the younger sisters. The style kept the hair off her face, but let it pour down her back. Jana’s was braided fully, in the traditional style of the Jotun royal house. He didn’t recognize the style of Syn’s braids and wondered if the sisters had invented it for her.

Raifa, the youngest of his father’s wives, leaned over, past Jun and Laufey to speak to Maiza. “Is that your old family braid?”

Loki turned to stare at his mother but she didn’t even glance at him. “It is,” she told Raifa. “The girl needed a pattern and mine is unused.”

“It suits her,” Raifa agreed, looking back to the pitch. “Shows off those curls of hers.”

His mother smiled widely, but didn’t respond as the fighters had turned to the box and made their bows. Someone had coached Syn well, her bow was perfect and timed exactly right. It was a formality not required of lower classes but, as they were court members, they needed to make a show of asking Laufey permission to fight, even in this false battle.

The king inclined his head slightly, expression unreadable. Syn and Jana stepped back, to the center of the field and turned, staves at the ready. The games caller counted down from three and then it was begun.

Part of Loki wanted to cover his face with a hand and peek through his fingers, like Ruwa used to during frightening tales. He resisted the urge and focused his full attention on the battle. The air cracked with the sound of wood striking wood and the women moved back and forth on the pitch, losing and gaining ground.

He heard Muru whistle under her breath and that simple sound confirmed what Loki had started to suspect. Syn had been holding back in training. He had thought her competent, but no match for Jana. Now he had to revise that assessment.

Jana had brute strength, but Syn was _fast_. Her staff blurred as she turned it and she met, deflected or dodged every blow. For a moment he feared Jana might be holding back for some reason, stretching the battle out as long as she could to some purpose Loki could not yet see. But no, even from here he could see the concentration on her face. The anger. she was breaking a sweat going after the little Alfan and she wasn’t happy about it. Not a bit.

Loki was beginning to wonder if this was going to end in a draw, or possibly with one of the women dropping from exhaustion, when Jana sent a particularly brutal blow towards Syn’s head. The Alfan blocked the strike and responded with the other end of her staff, striking Jana in the ribs. She overbalanced slightly in the follow through and Jana took advantage, spinning her staff to hook one end under Syn’s knee.

She yanked and Syn hit the ground with a thump. Loki saw her wince, the pain that flickered over her face and knew the impact must have hurt. She recovered in time to block Jana’s next blow, but the next sent her staff flying out of her hands.

Jana drove her staff into the ground next to Syn, preventing her from rolling after the weapon. Then she leaned down, taking a knee to loom over the smaller woman. She said something that made Syn scowl, then drew her hand back. Loki saw light glint off his sister’s fist and realized she had made an ice knife just as she thrust said knife towards Syn’s stomach.

The crowd gasped, but Syn rolled to the side, pressing against Jana’s planted staff in an effort to dodge the knife. The ice stuck in the dirt and Syn rolled back, bringing her fist up into Jana’s cheek. There was a puff of dirt and Jana yelled, clawing at her eyes. Syn had thrown a fistful of earth into her face, blinding her.

Taking advantage of the distraction, Syn rolled away and got to her feet. Loki expected her to run, her opponent had just tried to kill her, but instead she stopped a few steps away and held out her hands. A bow and arrow appeared in them and by the time Jana had cleared her vision and turned to face her, still on her knees, Syn had the arrow notched and pointed directly at her face.

The entire stadium seemed to hold its breath. Neither of the women moved. Jana stayed frozen on her knees, face streaked with dirt and mud, ice knife still glinting on her hand. Syn seemed to barely breathe, holding her arrow at full pull, the head not even wavering.

Jun, the twins’ mother, leaned over and hissed to Laufey, “End this.”

He didn’t look away from the tableau on the field. “The challenge isn’t over yet.”

“The Alfan cheated,” Jun argued. “She has a new weapon. You can bring an end to the match.”

“Your daughter pulled a weapon first,” Maiza said softly. “Syn did not cry foul, merely responded in kind. Technically, the match is not forfeit, yet.”

Laufey had an odd smile on his face, as if no matter the outcome of the match he would be the victor. For an instant, Loki hated him and wished he would suffer, instead of putting others in harms way, to bleed for him.

Blood, that was it. Loki cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted towards the field, “Blood. Syn! First blood!”

He knew her and her expressions well enough to see the flicker of recognition cross her face. Then she leaned forward and flicked her wrist. The point of her arrow scraped along Jana’s cheek and a thin line of dark blood trickled from the wound.

The bell rang, signaling the end of the bout and Syn backed away, lowering her bow but keeping the arrow notched in case she needed to lift it again.

Jana got slowly to her feet, wiping the blood away with the back of her hand. She turned without a word and headed for the gate she had entered through, towards the preparation rooms. Loki leapt from his seat and made his way out of the stands, despite his mother’s protests.

Loki strode down the hallway, Muru at his heels, heading towards the preparation rooms. His sister kept trying to grab his arm, to slow him, and he consistently shook off her touch.

"Loki, it was a sanctioned battle. She handled herself well. She won!" Muru sounded out of breath as she ran. "Please stop this. You'll only escalate things further."

He didn't really think that was possible. Jana had just tried to stab an ambassador in the abdomen on front of half the realm. Finding out why seemed like a perfectly reasonable thing to him.

They came around a corner and found Jana. For a moment she didn't notice them and she looked dejected and tired. When she heard his footsteps she rearranged her expression into her usual smug smile and turned to greet them. Then she saw his face and the facade faltered.

He knew he did not have a particularly fearsome reputation. He had been born a runt and was still slimmer than most of the warriors. Still, he was rarely beaten in battle. In some ways, being a runt had been to his benefit. He worked harder and smarter than anyone else in an effort to prove himself worthy. For the most part, he thought he had succeeded. The look of panic on his sister's face confirmed she had at least some fear of him.

When he reached her, he wrapped a hand around her throat and lifted, slamming her back into the unadorned wall behind her. Muru cried out and caught his arm as if to pry him off the other woman. He didn't budge, even when Jana clawed at his wrist.

"What were you thinking?" He spoke through gritted teeth. 

"It was just a little fun," she wheezed through her restricted airway. "No harm meant."

"No _harm_? You could have killed her."

"Alfans aren't like us, Jana," Muru said softly. "Had you stabbed where you were aiming you would have done her serious harm. We have no healers familiar with her anatomy. She could easily have died."

Had he not been all but nose to nose with her, Loki would have missed the subtle paling of Jana's skin and the widening of her eyes. "He didn't tell you that, did he?" he said softly. "Dear Father just told you to embarrass her a bit. Not that you'd be murdering a state official while thousands of onlookers watched."

"I don't know what you mean," she said, jaw tightening. She managed to look almost dignified, even with his hand on her neck.

"Oh, don't protect him now," Muru said softly.

"He set you up, sister," Loki told her. "Laufey had a problem and nominated you to fix it. And you were so delighted to be part of the game it never occurred to you to ask which part you were playing. The loyal princess or the pawn to be discarded."

"At least I play it," she spat. "Instead of sitting on the sidelines and waiting for the world to turn around me. You better pick your piece, Loki. Or the crown will pass you by without you even knowing why."

Loki thought of his father's warning, wondered if this was exactly what he'd been warning him against. Obviously, his plans for Syn were less than diplomatic. Why he wanted her dead was a bit of a mystery. Loki would need to sit down with his mother to see if they could work out the rules of the game. In the mean time there was one thing he could do to help ensure Syn's safety.

He gave Jana a little shake and Muru's nails dug into him again. "You all want me part of the game. Fine. You want me to declare myself the ambassador's defender? Here I am. I defend her. She is _mine_. Touch her again and you answer to me." He stepped back and released her, letting her sag against the wall. "And tell Laufey the same."

With that, he turned and strode back the way he had come, Muru once again on his heels.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aloha from Hawaii. See how much I love you? I post on my vacation!

_The proper thing to do was bow to her, but Tanet bowed to no one, not even to the Highest of the High. He did attempt to make his tone reverent when he said, “You are Lyra of the River, who whispers riddles in the ears of babes before they’re born and asks them the answer after their death.”_  
 _Her smile widened. “I am. And you are Tanet of the Valley, who gave fire to the Jotun and taught the mockingbird to tease.”_  
 _“So I am.”_  
 _“You are as charming as they say you are, Tanet,” she said. “Thank you for your attempt at protection.”_  
 _“It doesn’t appear to have been needed.” He gestured at the bandits’ weapons._  
 _She raised a shoulder in an easy shrug. “The intent was appreciated.” Her smile turned sly. “Tell me, Tanet of the Valley, is it true the wolf used to eat grass till you taught him to catch hares?”_  
 _He grinned at the old story. “Well, the hare had welched on a bet.”_  
\--Excerpt from “When Tanet Met the Maid” from the Tales of the Gods

By the gods, everything hurt.

Syn had to admit, that was a very useful phrase. Seemed to have much more punch than a simple "by the spirits" that her mother occasionally used. Made her complaints sound more like lamentations to the gods then simple whining.

Everything did hurt, though. The fall she had taken seemed to have rattled her bones as well as bruising her back. It was a miracle nothing had broken. Just as miraculous was the fact she'd managed to get up and continue fighting. Of course, the threat of a knife to the gut did get one moving rather hastily.

She still wasn't sure what had brought that on. She knew Jana didn't like her, but assassination seemed a little dire, even for her. Syn had tried to ask Maiza and Ruwa about it when they'd come to help her after the battle, but they had both dodged her questions and when the suggestion of a hot bath had been broached she'd forgotten her concerns almost instantly.

Now here she lay, chin deep in herbed water, knots in her back and arms slowly unraveling. Fortunately, they planned the tournament games well in advance of the ball, so those who competed had time to prepare themselves. Though, frankly, she was starting to seriously consider never leaving the tub. She could just float here in warmth until Ragnarok took them all.

Of course, then she wouldn't get to see Loki at the ball. And she had been looking forward to seeing him. Or, at least, having him see _her_ in her gown. What there was of it, anyway.

This was probably not a topic she should be thinking about while naked and mellow in a bath. She'd already had one explicit dream about him a few nights ago, in which he was the one who had come to her after the battle and helped her slowly remover her armor. She'd woken just as his hand had cupped her breast, vague memories of his touch still lingering on her skin. She'd been achy and flushed most of the morning, and quite happy to take her aggressions out on Muru in training.

She groaned and dunked her head beneath the water. It did nothing to cool her thoughts, unfortunately. She'd never been one to form an unsuitable attraction to someone unattainable. Of course, as a princess of relative beauty very, very few men had ever been unattainable.

Theoretically, he wasn’t unattainable. He was a prince of what was still an allied realm. She was fairly certain he had some affection for her. It was possible his interest was only platonic, that he saw her as a friend, or even a sister. She was only an inch or two taller than Mashira, who he obviously doted on. Given their differences - and his father’s ever more apparent dislike of her - that would be the safer assumption to make.

And yet. . . the way he looked at her was anything but fraternal.

Right. Probably time to get out of the tub before this descended into madness. Muru and the little girls would be here any minute to help with her hair and she should probably _not_ be in the bath fantasizing about their brother when they arrived. That would be awkward.

She climbed out of the tub, groaning again, this time in pain. She wrapped herself in a towel and focused, pulling up her magic and sending a wave of healing into her back. It didn’t heal the bruising completely - healing oneself was a difficult and sometimes dangerous thing - but it eased the aches and pains enough that she would be able to get dressed and dance, if the occasion demanded.

Using another flare of magic to dry out her hair, she drained the tub and padded out to her bedroom where her costume for the masque was laid out.

It had been a long, circular discussion with the Jotun women on what she should dress up as. The tradition was to dress as one of the gods, often your patron, if appropriate. Syn had feared it would be taken poorly if she was to dress as a Jotun deity and had suggested she go as a character from an Alfan fairy tale. Mashira had argued that no one would know who she was supposed to be and that it would be easier to find something for one of the gods.

Maiza had settled the argument, in the calm, reasonable way that she had. She had assured Syn that the masque was far more secular than religious and no one would think twice of her wearing the guise of the gods. In fact, dressing as something Alfan would likely be more gossip worthy. Since Syn’s goal was still acceptance, she had conceded the point.

Maiza had then somehow convinced her to have a dress made in the Jotun style. It was blue - a dark grey blue that reminded her of Loki’s skin, now that she thought about it - with an intricate silver embroidery pattern and would have given her mother a heart attack had she seen it. The neckline on the bodice was modestly cut, leaving only the faintest glimpse of her cleavage. Below that, however, it cut in beneath her breasts and left her abdomen bare to just below her navel, where the skirt began. Multiple layers of blue, grey and silver fabric swirled around her legs. If she walked at a fast clip it looked like ocean waves churning around her.

“Well now, it’s Lyra herself come to visit us.”

Syn turned to find Maiza in the doorway. “I think I’m a little pale and short,” she said ruefully. “But thank you. Shouldn’t you be busy with last minute ball things?”

The queen waved a dismissive hand, stepping into the room. “Jun has it well in hand. She needed something to distract her after Jana’s little adventure today.”

“Have I gained another enemy?” Syn asked. Though how else she might have handled the debacle this afternoon she didn’t know.

“I assure you, you are not the one she’s mad at,” Maize told her. “She may hug you in gratitude for not killing the stupid girl, though.”

Syn shrugged easily. “I don’t imagine Jana is entirely to blame, either.” She’d seen the Jotun woman’s eyes when the dirt had finally cleared away and she’d seen Syn holding the arrow on her. There had been anger there, of course. But there had been something else, too. Something like despair.

Maiza gave her a thoughtful look. “There is a great deal more to you than meets the eye, isn’t there, Syn?”

She resisted the urge to shrug again. “That depends on how closely you look, ma’am.”

The queen smiled widely and gave a little nod, as if she had just decided something. “I came to give you a few things. To complete the outfit.”

“Oh, you didn’t have to do that. You’ve been more than helpful. You and the girls-”

Another dismissive hand wave. “It’s been a long time since I had someone to dress up for a ball. Muru takes care of herself now and Mashira has a few years left to go. If she lets me at all. Just like Loki, that one is. Before you came along I couldn’t get him to a ball with any bribe in the realms.”

Before Syn could parse that tidbit for a deeper meaning the queen came forward and pulled a length of silver chain out of the little pouch she carried. Bending, she fastened it around Syn’s waist, tweaking the fit so it hung provocatively off her hip. Speaking of things that would make her mother have fits.

“I’m not certain-” she began, looking down to study the little charms dangling from the chain. There was a sun and a moon. A flower. A snake. Symbols of Lyra.

“Nonsense,” Maiza said. “You look lovely. And here. This is a gift. I’m told we missed your birthday when you were home.” She handed Syn the pouch with a smile.

Touched beyond words, Syn smiled and tugged open the draw string, reaching into the bag to pull out a silver arm band adorned with a spray of seven pointed stars, the sigil of the Alfan royal house.

“Oh, Maiza, it’s lovely, thank you.” She slipped on her arm, tightening it over her right bicep so it fit snugly. She admired it on her arm a moment, then turned back to the queen. “Thank you so much.”

Maiza reached out and hugged her tightly a moment. “You are very welcome. You look just lovely.”

Before Syn could thank her again - because what else could she say? - the doorway was filled with Muru and the little girls, brandishing hair brushes, ribbons and pins. Maiza laughed when she saw them. “I see your honor guard has arrived.”

*

Loki had rarely felt less like attending a ball. Fury at Jana and his father still pumped through him. He had washed and changed into his costume by rote, running over possible confrontations in his mind. Of course, in his imagination, his father saw the error of his ways and agreed to leave Syn alone. All on the power of Loki’s words.

Well, the fantasies got him through his preparations, anyway.

He dressed as Tanet, in a green vest over a crisp, open necked white shirt and soot black pants. He completed the outfit with a gold domino mask and a gold coin he could flip and spin through his knuckles. He had worn the same outfit, more or less, every harvest festival for years now. No one ever seemed to mind, he was hardly the center of attention at these things.

When he arrived at the ball room most of his family was already there. His father looked as bored as Loki, surveying the crowd with his mouth in a grim line. His mother and the other queens were flitting through the crowd, all dressed as different aspects of Maya. He spotted Muru in a more evocative version of their mother’s costume. Jana and Jaida were in one corner with their entourage, both dressed as Ara, Jana in black and Jaida in white to show the duality of the god/dess. They had done variations on the theme for as long as he could remember. 

He did not, however, see Syn. Last he’d heard Muru and the little sisters had gone to help her get ready. Now Muru was here but Syn was nowhere to be seen. She had taken quite a few blows in the fight today. Could she have been too sore to join the festivities? If so, what in hell was he doing here?

“Looking for someone in particular?”

Smiling at the sound of her voice he turned. And felt the air rush out of him.

He had grown used to her Alfan and Asgardian dresses. Had even come to like the odd skirts and conservative cuts. Now she stood before him in Jotun clothes and he honestly thought his brain might have stopped working. His gaze darted from the layers of sheer fabric covering her legs to the intricate embroidery of her bodice to the seemingly endless expanse of pale skin between. A slim silver chain circled her bare waist, charms dangling merrily, and a silver armband hugged her left bicep. A scythe hung from a thin ribbon around her right wrist and her mask was blue with silver stars. Her hair was intricately braided, with flowers and blue and silvers ribbons woven throughout. She was Lyra of the River, Queen of the Night, who held life and death in her palms and weighed them fairly.

And tonight, just for tonight, he was Tanet the Trickster, the only god to ever make Lyra laugh. “Lyra, my darling,” he said and she smiled widely beneath her mask. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”

She spread her hands, scythe catching the light. “And what will you do with me now that you’ve found me, dear Tanet?”

Emboldened by the game, he stepped closer to her and curled his hand around her waist. Her skin was as hot as ever and he felt her shiver in response to the touch. He was quite certain, however, that it was not their difference in temperatures that shook her. “Dance with you,” he said quietly, looking down into her bright green eyes. “Of course.”

“Of course,” she replied in a breathy whisper.

He drew her out onto the dance floor and folded her hand in his as they twirled around. Her had never been so graceful, so in tune with the music and the steps. She fit in his arms like she had been formed specifically to fit there, moving with him intuitively. For once, she didn’t focus on his chest or at a safe place on his chest, but instead tipped her head back to hold his gaze with hers. Her hand on his arm was warm, fingers curled around the muscle rather than resting lightly.

“Everyone is watching us,” she said softly. He couldn’t tell from her tone what, exactly, she thought of this fact.

For his part, he couldn’t have cared less. As far as he was concerned, they were the only people in the realms. So he ducked his head a little and whispered, “Let them.”

They shared several dances before stopping to retrieve drinks and food. Muru came over to compliment Syn’s dress, though he was fairly certain she’d seen her before. A son of one of Laufey’s advisors was trailing behind her, dressed as stone-faced Kuruk. He gave Loki a polite nod as the women talked and Loki made a mental not to learn everything relevant about him as soon as possible. If he was courting Muru - or starting to court her - Maiza would surely know something about him.

As if sensing his spike of fraternal protectiveness, Syn nudged his side and gave him a quelling look. 

“I didn’t say a word,” he protested when his sister and her shadow had moved on.

“You didn’t need to. Your glare could have pierced his skin all on it’s own.”

He put a hand on the small of her back, her skin soft and warm under his. “Do you know him?”

“We’ve met,” she said casually. Too casually, in fact.

“And?” he prodded, tracing little patterns on her back in encouragement.

She sighed but didn’t pull away from his touch. “His name is Bey. He’s been trying to court Muru for a while and she’s only just started reciprocating. She isn’t sure if she wants to be in a proper relationship, so they’re taking it slow.” She looked up at him. “Happy?”

“I suppose.” It would save interrogating his mother at any rate. And if things were progressing slowly then he could hold off on any male posturing for the time being. Such things weren’t normally his style, he must still be wound up from his confrontation with Jana.

He looked down at Syn, watching her watch the dancers. He should stop touching her, now that they weren’t out there on the floor. But he couldn’t seem to remove his hand. The feel of her skin, usually hidden from him, was intoxicating. He followed the slight indent of her spine, skimmed the hard line of her lower ribs. The silver chain hung loosely, perfectly placed for his fingers to toy with, making the charms dance.

Finally, she tipped her head back a little and said through gritted teeth, “If you don’t stop that, I’m going to come out of my skin.”

He couldn’t help but grin. “You hide your reactions well.”

“Thank you. Are you trying to torment me?”

Now that he could see her face, study her, he could see her pupils were dilated, catch the faint hitch in her breathing. “I find the texture of your skin fascinating.”

Color rose in her cheeks and he saw her swallow hard. “Your hand is rough.” He hesitated, began to lift his hand from her when she added, “That was not a complaint.”

He grinned widely and lowered his head to whisper in he ear, “Watch the dancers.” Her mouth thinned in dismay, but she obeyed him, looking away from him.

He completed his tour of her back and slowly slid his hand around the dip of her waist to flatten on her stomach. She caught her breath and let it out as a sigh. His fingers stroked the divots between her ribs, circled the dip of her navel, and petted the soft, downy hair that covered the curve of her belly. A dark, wild part of him wanted to keep going, to slide his hand beneath the waist of her skirt, down past the thatch of coarse hair to stroke her core until she came apart in his arms.

There was an old superstition that said the gods visited the Harvest Masque and walked among mortals as they did in the stories, just for one night. Loki had always scoffed at the idea, but right now he swore Tanet whispered in his ear, encouraging him to do as he imagined. Give her pleasure and find somewhere he could take his own. The Masque was a night of such things, of temptation and passion. Loki had never been one to indulge, having never had a partner worth the teasing he would surely get from his family.

Kissing her here, in front of everyone, would almost certainly cause a stir, especially given his little declaration to Jana earlier. Still, there were a lot of places in the palace once could find a moment or two of privacy, especially during a ball.

He tightened his arm around Syn’s waist and stepped backwards, taking her with him through a nearby doorway. Once in a hallway he released her and took her hand. “Come with me,” he said, tugging her down the passage.

She went with him easily, hurrying to keep up with him. “Where are we going?”

That was actually a good question. If anyone came to look for them their parlors would be the first place searched. Other couples were tucked into various niches and quiet spots already. The library was on the other end of the palace from the ballroom. He needed to find somewhere no one would think to look.

Which is how they ended up in the chapel, the music and noise of the ball wafting down the hallway. No one would be feeling particularly religious tonight, so they would have relative privacy. Hopefully, Tanet and Lyra would appreciate a little sacrilege on their festival night.

He turned to face Syn, studying her in the dim light. Without saying a word, he lifted his hands and searched for the ribbon of her mask where it was hidden in her hair. He undid it deftly, tugging the mask off her face. The scrap of fabric fluttered from his hand as he bent close and brought his mouth to hers.

It was not his first kiss, not by a good measure. He had entertained women of every station in the court. Warriors and maidens and even a servant or two, when he was young, though his mother had put a stop to that as soon as she’d caught wind of it. He was not an innocent. And neither, based on her eager response, was Syn.

She tasted of wine and butter apples and smelled of exotic florals and a field of late frost. Her little hands reached up and wound into his hair, holding him down to her. In response, he wrapped his arms around her and lifted her up against his chest, her feet leaving the ground, so he could kiss her easier. This was madness and somehow the sanest thing he had ever done.

When the initial exploration was done he grew bold, tongue probing the seam of her lips, then stroking the length of hers when she allowed entrance. She was far from a passive player in the tease, sucking lightly on the intruder and nipping at his lower lip when he retreated.

At some point he had turned them and pressed her against the smooth expanse of wall between Tanet and Lyra’s niches. Bracing one leg between hers he was abled to run one hand over her, stroking the smooth skin of her back again before moving forward and cupping one breast. He stroked his thumb against her and felt her nipple peak through the fabric of her bodice. She groaned into his mouth and the little sound caused him to lift his head.

They were both flushed, breath harsh and fast. Her hand moved in his hair, fingers stroking the long silken strands. He sighed, leaning into the touch a little, before dipping his head for another kiss, less desperate, but still passionate.

He had no idea how long they stayed there, kissing. There were weeks, if not months, of pent up attraction to work through, and he had no intention of letting her go unsatisfied. Every part of him wanted to go further, to push her higher. But it was not the time and certainly not the place. He had time. If there was one thing they all had, it was time.

After an eternity that wasn’t nearly long enough, he lifted his head. “Are you sore?” She blinked rapidly, confusion obvious on her face and he clarified, “From the battle?”

He could see her war with herself, obviously afraid an honest answer would mean the end of their little interlude. Finally she admitted, “A little.”

Very carefully, he lowered her to her feet and watched as she straightened her skirts. “I imagine it’s after midnight. We missed the unmasking.”

She cast him a knowing look. “I don’t think ‘missed’ is the right word.”

He grinned, a flare of masculine pride threatening to make it smug. “In any case, it will be quite obvious if we try to sneak back in now. Shall I escort you to your room?” She gave him another look and he hastily added, “And leave you there.”

“That would be lovely, thank you,” she said, tucking her arm into his. “It was a very eventful day.”

“So it was,” he murmured, pressing a kiss into the top of her head. He paused a moment. “Should I apologize?”

She looked up at him. “No. No, don’t you dare. This was lovely. I hope to repeat it in the future.”

Relief flooded him and he bent to kiss her softly, one more time. “That can be arranged.”


	12. Chapter 12

_High on sweet fruit tree_  
 _She hangs_  
 _Ripe and unplucked and eager_  
 _I will climb the highest hill to claim her sweet fruit_  
 _I will tame the wailing storm_  
-Fragment of erotic poetry from unknown Alfan poet, translated from Old Alfan

It became extremely apparent in the few weeks that there was absolutely, positively no privacy in the Jotun palace. And it was starting to drive Syn absolutely mad.

Since the Harvest Ball she and Loki had spent a considerable amount of time trying to find somewhere they could continue what they had started in the temple. There was a quiet alcove in the library where they had stolen a few moments. A few magic lessons had ended with them tangled up together on her couch. But his sisters tended to visit both of them at off times, making any sort of privacy in their parlors all but impossible.

And so here they were, three weeks into Jotun winter having done little more than kiss. Syn felt like a youth again, barely old enough to be kissing, hiding in corners and hidden spots in the garden. She had thought she’d outgrown such adventures, but Loki seemed to bring out the impulsiveness in her.

They were sitting with Muru and Ruwa at breakfast one particularly chilly morning. If the sisters noticed Loki’s hand straying to Syn’s thigh, they were polite enough not to mention it. The Jotuns were discussing the sharp change in weather and the possibility of next week’s hunt being canceled due to the snow. Jotuns were tolerant of extremely low temperatures, but heavy snow and wind still caused visibility problems that could be dangerous. People got lost or injured in white outs.

Syn sipped her drink, tucking her legs up, knees pointing towards Loki. “This was the sort of day my brothers and I would spend all day outside, making snowmen and throwing snowballs.”

Muru tilted her head quizzically. “Snowmen?”

Well, it wouldn’t be the first thing the Jotuns had a different word for something. “You know, when you roll the snow into two or three large balls and stack them?”

All three of them were staring at her now. “And then you throw them?” Ruwa asked.

“No, the snow balls are smaller.” Syn looked from one of them to the other. “You don’t have snowball fights? Or make things in the snow?” All of them shook their heads.

And that was how she ended up on the surface of Jotunheim, wearing at least four layers of clothing, teaching Loki, Muru, Ruwa, Mashira, and Rashira how to build a snowman.

Buried under layers as she was, she wasn’t a lot of practical help. But Jotun strength made up for a lot and once they had the hang of it they built some fairly impressive stacks.

“That is a proper snow giant,” she declared as Loki set the head onto one that had to be at least seven feet tall.

“How big do you usually make them?” Ruwa asked, brushing snow off her hands. 

Syn gestured about chest height on herself. “Of course, it’s mostly children who make them in Alfheim. So they seem bigger.”

Mashira and Rashira were dangling off Loki, begging him to make one more snowman. “Syn? I believe you mentioned something about throwing snow?”

“So I did.” She bent and scooped up a handful of snow and packed it into a ball. Say what you would about Jotunheim, its snow was perfect for packing. When it was properly formed she pulled her hand back and let it fly, smacking Loki square in the chest.

He gave her a comically wounded look as the little girls squealed and released him to start packing their own.

The resulting battle was brutal. Ground was won and lost, sides were chosen, allies became traitors. It was the stuff of legends. In the end, no one was entirely sure who had won, but Syn had lost her hat and gloves and a layer of bundling and Muru and Ruwa each had a pleasantly exhausted little sister draped on their shoulder.

Since the little ones were quite done for the day they all started for the stairs. Ruwa and Muru went first and Loki caught Syn’s arm, tugging her away from the opening.

He drew her into the shelter of the stone throne and kissed her. Despite her cold nose and fingers, she felt an immediate flare of heat at his touch. So she let him press her into the icy stone and kiss for a few intoxicating minutes.

“I want to show you something,” he murmured when he finally lifted his head.

She played with the ends of his hair. The silky texture continued to fascinate her. “I’m as desperate as you are, darling, but I don’t handle the cold nearly as well as you do.”

A laugh rumbled in his chest and he brushed another light kiss across her mouth before leaning back and taking her hand. “You’ll like this, come.”

Honestly, she couldn’t deny him anything, not when he was smiling and flirting with her, so she let him drag her away from the stairs and the promise of a fire and warm tea, and out into the snow.

He kept her tucked in at his side as they walked out into the field behind the throne. She had never been out this way before. The Bifrost had dropped her among the standing stones and the tournament field and nature walks the sisters had shown her were all beyond them. In her head, the realm ended at the throne, as no one had ever mentioned anything past there that was worth investigating.

 And at first glance, there wasn’t much there. The terrain was rocky and uneven, with no signs of life or vegetation. A few times Loki had to steady her in the rough footing and at least once he had to lift her from one layer of rock to another. Nothing she had seen so far made her glad she’d stayed out with him rather than seeking out her couch and tea.

Then she saw the steam. It seemed to drift up out of the ground a few yards ahead and her steps faltered. Was there an active volcano nearby? She had no idea what seismic activity was like on Jotunheim. Alfheim had a few dormant volcanoes, most on uninhabited islands out in the sea. There was one famous on in the mountain range north of the Capital. She’d visited it once with her family and found it no more or less interesting than any other mountain, especially having come on the trip with images of erupting volcanoes and rivers of lava in her head.

Before she could ask, they grew closer and she saw not lava, but water.

“Hot springs!” she said, both surprised and pleased. There was a story about Lyra and Tanet meeting that involved a hot spring, but Syn had seen no sign of them on Jotunheim before this.

Loki was grinned at her, obviously pleased at the reaction. “I thought you might like a dip. Warm you up.”

She glanced up at him out the corner of her eye. “I don’t have a bathing suit.”

“I don’t even own one,” he told her, shrugging out of his coat. He had on a loose, open necked shirt beneath it, which he also stripped off. She stared as he leaned down to unfasten his boots. Was he seriously suggesting they go in naked?

Syn didn’t consider herself particularly prudish. But there was a big difference between kissing and skinny dipping. She looked away when he started to strip his trousers down. She did risk looking back until she heard a gentle splash of him getting in the water.

It came up to his chest, which likely mean she’d have to tread water to keep her head up. He arched his brows in challenge as she crossed her arms. “Are you a coward, princess?”

Her jaw dropped at the taunt. “I beg your pardon? Some of us feel the cold.”

“All the more reason to get in the warm water.”

Oh, she had never been able to back down from a challenge. And if the water was as warm as it looked then he did have a point. Holding his gaze, she tipped her chin up defiantly and started to strip.

He watched blatantly as she peeled off her layers of coat and sweater, then her heavy wool dress and the corset beneath it, leaving her in a thin shift, stockings and boots. She had saved the boots and stockings for last, sure the ground would be freezing. She bent to unlace her boots, aware Loki was still watching her and probably looking right down her shift. 

Her face felt hot when she straightened, boots and stockings now discarded. She’d been right about the temperature of the stone ground and decided to leave her shift on, taking two big steps and sliding into the hot spring.

It was absolutely heavenly, the perfect temperature to warm her up after their morning in the snow. She sighed in utter content and decided to forgive Loki the smug look he was pointing her way. “Why haven’t you told me about these before?” she asked him.

He gave a negligent shrug. “This is the best time of year for them. At the end of the winter there’s been enough snowfall to off set the natural heat. But at the beginning of the season they’re at their warmest.”

That made sense, she supposed. Closing her eyes and covering them with a hand, she dunked her head under the water and then popped back up. Steam billowed off her now wet hair, but she was quite thoroughly warmed now. Keeping near the edge of the pool meant she could find the ground with her toes and not have to tread water.

Loki was watching her every move, expression unreadable. A few months ago that probably would have made her nervous. Now, she rather liked the attention. There was a certain sense of power in having a man watch you that way. Like you were the only woman in the realms.

“What are you doing all the way over there?” he asked finally, tone teasing.

“Some of us aren’t giants,” she told him. “This is where I can reach the bottom.”

He moved easily through the water towards her. “You haven’t explored the whole pool.”

She really couldn’t imagine what the far side had that would be any more interesting than this side. One snow covered rock was quite similar to another, after all. Before she voice such an opinion, he’d looped an arm around her waist and tugged her off her feet, dragging her towards the center of the pool.

 “Loki!” The protest lost some of its bite when she wrapped her arm around his shoulders to help keep herself afloat.

“I promise I won’t let you drown,” he assured her.

“Well good, because I think that would look rather poorly on you. Letting the ambassador drown on your watch.”

He grinned. “And after you’d survived my viper of a sister and everything.”

They were in the center of the pool now. There was no ground to be found beneath her feet and she thought even he was trading water. She slid her other arm around him and he drew her closer. “It would be a rather ignominious end,” she said softly.

“We can’t have that,” he replied, then bent close to kiss her before she could continue the banter.

Syn melted in his arms, giving him all her weight. He could handle it easily, especially in the water like this. His arms tightened on her, hands spanning her back. She felt quite safe and protected.

The kiss was slow, almost lazy, and toe curlingly intimate. With the warmth of the water she hardly noticed the difference in their body temperatures. The thin linen of her shift was almost nonexistent and she could almost imagine there was nothing between them at all.

She was dimly aware of him moving them through the water. Then she felt stone behind her thighs and he was lifting her onto a smooth shelf or seat carved into the rock. It was low enough it kept most of her in the warm water, but meant he didn’t have to hold her up. Once she was safely seated he slid one hand around to cup her breast through her wet shift.

The feel of his palm against her nipple shot heat through her and she moaned into his mouth, fingers tightening in his hair. Obviously encouraged by the sound, he slipped the hand down, then under the shift. Then his hand was on her bare breast and her thoughts seemed to scatter.

Syn was far from innocent. She’d had lovers on Alfheim as well as Asgard. She knew her way around a lover’s bed as well as her own body. She was not shy. But she swore in that moment that nothing had ever felt as good - as _explicit_ as his big, cool hand on her breast.

Still her kissed her, tongue delving deep in her mouth. Encouraged by his boldness, she let her own hands wander, away from his shoulders and down his back. He was laced with taut, lean muscle. His skin was warmed by the water, but still cooler than her own body temperature. The difference didn’t bother her. She might even admit she found it slightly erotic.

In their wanderings, her hand found his hips and discovered he was not, in fact, wearing anything but water. The realization made her groan into his mouth and he responded with a sound that could only be called a growl. His fingers tightened on her breast, pinching her nipple between his thumb and forefinger. She felt the pull of it go straight to her core, filling her with liquid heat.

His thumb scraped across her nipple, over and over, sending shocks of awareness through her every time. Wanting more, she hooked her feet behind his thighs and tugged him closer. She had no hope of actually moving him, of course. But he took the hint and pressed closer to her again.

She revealed in the feel of his body against her, hard muscle against soft skin. She nipped at his lip, sucking it into her mouth. He retaliated by releasing her breast and sliding his hand down her belly to blatantly cup her sex.

Syn gasped and Loki lifted his head enough to ask, “Too much?”

Shaking her head sharply, she leaned back enough to look at his eyes, the normally bright scarlet gone deep ruby with arousal. “Not enough,” she told him, breathless and he growled again, catching her mouth.

His fingers moved against her, gently parting her folds, exploring her. Her blunt nails dug into the skin of his hips, holding on for dear life as his touch set her aflame. The gentle motion of the water added another level of sensation to the caress.

Eventually, she had to break their kiss to gasp for breath, head tipping back as she gulped in the crisp, snow sharp air. Loki pressed his mouth to her throat instead, tongue tracing a line down her neck. 

“My lover’s breath quickens like a storm,” he murmured into her skin. She recognized the words, but it took a moment to place them. Not until he’d uttered a second line, “She opens for me like the dawn. I bathe in her desire.” did she recognize it as an poem from a book of erotic verses he’d caught her with a few days ago.

The words distracted her from what his hand was doing. When she felt two of his long fingers breach her entrance she knew he’d done it on purpose, to ensure she didn’t tense up before the intrusion.

He kissed the top of her breast. “I drink of her honey,” he whispered, and his fingers moved, sliding out, then back in, deeper. Syn groaned, body tightening on them as another burst of heat blossomed inside. “And she of mine,” Loki said, bending her back so he could take her nipple in his mouth. He sucked hard, drawing her flesh deep into his mouth.

 Syn’s hands flew from his hips to his hair, holding him to her. She relaxed into his hold, rocking with the rhythm of his strokes, as if it were something far larger than his fingers taking her. Pleasure grew in her, spreading out from his mouth on her breast and his masterful stroking of her sex, both inside and out.

Her climax grew until she couldn’t take it any longer. She cried out his name as it rushed through her. Her back arched and she clenched around his fingers, spasming in time to her racing heartbeat.

Loki lifted his head from her breast and held her, still petting her clit lightly as she rode it out. “My sweet, let me bring you honey,” he whispered into her ear, finishing the poem. “My love, let me do the sweetest things to you.”

She sagged onto his chest, utterly spent. For a few moments, it was impossible to think of anything but how good she felt and how solid he was under her cheek.

Slowly, he withdrew his hand, and she moaned at the sensation. She felt him chuckle as he wrapped his other arm around her. “Good?”

“Mmmhmm.” She pressed a kiss into his chest, then lifted her head to catch his mouth with hers. He stroked her hair tenderly as they kissed. When she felt slightly more in control of her limbs she lifted her head. “My turn.”

He grinned widely, but asked, “Are you sure?”

“Quite.” She slid off the little shelf he’d sat her on, shivering at the feel of the water moving against her still sensitive folds. Pleased to find she could touch the bottom of the pool with her toes, she nudged him to turn and take her place on the rock.

It put her eye level with his abdomen, which is exactly where she’d wanted to me. She stepped between his legs and kissed his chest, stroking her hands down his rib cage. “I’m not going to quite erotic poetry at you, though,” she told him.

He was watching her with bright, intense eyes, but managed a reasonable pout at the words. “No?”

She shook her head solemnly, licking a droplet of water off his stomach. “No. My mouth will be busy elsewhere.” She waited just long enough to see him realize when she meant before bending her head to kiss him somewhere lower. Loki’s groan echoed off the surrounding rocks and his hands sunk into her hair. 

They didn’t make it back to the palace for quite some time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The erotic verse that Loki quotes is written by me and based on ancient Egyptian erotic verse.  
> The Alfan poem at the top of the chapter is based on the poetry of Sappho. I was originally going to use Elizabethan or Victorian erotic poems as inspiration, but they were a little too raunchy and tongue-in-cheek rather than lyrical and symbolic.


	13. Chapter 13

_A tea or tincture of willow bark is the accepted treatment for high fever. The wise healer is cautioned on aggressively treating fever, however. High temperatures are the body’s way of fighting off disease and should only be brought down if the patient is in danger. Premature treatment can lengthen an illness. Caution is a healer’s best strategy._  
\-- Common Cures for Common Ailments

The first time Loki was with a woman he was barely more than a youth. She’d been older, an experienced hunter and warrior. They had been out on a hunt, in fact, partnered so that he could learn from her wisdom. He had, in the end, learned far more than hunting techniques from her. And when he’d come back to the palace at the end of it all he was sure, completely and without reservation, that evidence of his activities would be written all over his face.

It had been with both surprise and an odd sense of disappointment that he’d realized no one could tell from looking at him that he was now a learned man in the ways of sex. Male pride urged him to announce it from the highest cliff tops. Common sense reminded him that everyone, generally speaking, eventually dabbled in the ways of the flesh and there was no need to make a show of it. All future affairs were conducted discreetly, usually in the privacy of his chambers. The crowned prince of Jotunheim did not lack for willing women.

Never, since that first encounter, had he been so torn between his desire to shout his conquest to the mountain tops and his practical need to be circumspect.

He knew that no one could know to what levels he and Syn’s relationship had progressed. Some of his family would approve, of course. Muru seemed to be eagerly awaiting a happy announcement of some sort. His mother, while more subtle in her thoughts, certainly liked Syn well enough. The Alfan ambassador had taken to wearing his mother’s family braid on a regular basis, an act that would, in some far flung villages, mean they were already married. Even Ruwa, who generally avoided gossip, politics and all things not literature related, seemed to have an interest in his love life.

But then there was the other half of the family. He had avoided his father since the harvest games. Oh, he’d had to attend council meetings and sit in on matters of state. But every overture of Laufey’s for them to speak privately was rebuffed. It was not a game he could play for long, but he was making a point and wanted to make sure Laufey heard it loud and clear.

Loki was sure Jana had passed on his message of protection to the king. No further attempts had been made against Syn and Laufey was being positively cordial to her when they crossed paths. Wether it was fear of angering his only son or simply him regrouping after the latest failure, Loki wasn’t sure.

Eventually, he would need to confront the old man, about a great many things. Before stirring the hornet’s nest, however, he would make sure he had looked at all the angles.

“I don’t see any explanation for it besides assassination,” he said to his mother one bitter cold morning. The underground dwelling of the Jotun did an excellent job of keeping out the worst of the realm’s weather; especially in the well protected and insulated heart of the palace. But there were some days that even the best of their technology was no match for the chill. 

Maiza sighed. They had had this conversation before, going round in circles trying to anticipate Laufey’s next moves or even divine his motives. “We still don’t know exactly what he told your sister to do. Jana is not an automaton, she has a drive and will of her own. Laufey’s orders could have been as simple and vague as scaring Syn so much she would choose to leave willingly.”

“And Jana, who has never met a subtle act, took that to mean stab her in the stomach.” Loki scowled. “But surely Laufey would have suspected she would go to such extremes.”

“You cannot play that game, Loki. Laufey is an expert strategist and politician. He and Odin didn’t invent these games we all play, but they did perfect them. But even _he_ cannot, with complete accuracy, predict the moves of his agents. Gods know he’s never been able to predict your moves.”

He couldn’t decide what level of pride he should feel at that. “Fine. Best case scenario, he was pulling a trick that got out of hand. Why? Why is he so against Syn being ambassador here? And if he _is_ that against it why did he accept her appointment in the first place?”

His mother gave him an inscrutable look. “Very good questions. What are some others you might ask?”

Oh, how he hated when she played this game. “Those weren’t enough?”

“We don’t have obvious or logical answers to them. Your father never does anything without a motive. He accepted her initially, so let us assume he had no problem with her at first blush. What changed?”

Loki blew out a frustrated breath. “He knew she was Alfan, so it wasn’t her truth sense. She hasn’t done anything overt.” His mother was giving him that same inscrutable look. “ _What_?”

“You, darling. The thing that changed is you. And your relationship with her.”

When Loki was a child he’d been quite certain that his mother could read his mind. He’d never gotten away with breaking a lamp or stealing an extra sweet. Not once. She always knew. And for one heart stopping moment he was completely certain she knew everything that he and Syn had done. “I have no idea-”

“Loki, please. Do you think i gave her my mother’s braid pattern because I have the great urge to adopt a daughter?” She smiled and touched his cheek. “You like her. Far more than I’ve seen you care for any other woman who’s caught your fancy. For far longer, too. You care for the Alfan, spend a great deal of time with her. Do you really think that would sit well with your father?”

“It would if we were truly peaceful allies with her realm.”

“That’s true. But there is a great deal of difference between peaceful ally and . . . entangled.”

He stared at her a moment, wondering how in the nine realms this conversation had gotten so far away from him. “Are you planning a betrothal without me, Mother?”

She laughed and shook her head. “Yes. Because everything ends in a marriage. Your affair, for lack of a better word, could rise and fall here in a few seasons, it would still affect your rule when you are king.”

“So Laufey is trying to rule from beyond the grave?”

“Of course he is. He’s been trying to shape you in him image since I refused to toss you onto the rocks as an infant. He’s failed at every turn, of course. But still, he persists.”

Loki mulled on that a moment, staring blankly at the far wall of his mother’s parlor. She went back to her sewing, giving him his time. “Do you think he wants her dead?” he asked finally.

“I don’t know,” his mother replied, still calmly sewing. “I think he wants her gone. Were I him I would prefer she go peaceably back to her realm and marry someone else. Killing her risks having her haunt you for the rest of your life. Better she be out of sight _and_ mind, don’t you agree?”

That did make sense, actually. Laufey, for all his other faults, didn’t use an axe when a scalpel would do. “I should speak of this with Syn.”

“I am horrified to hear you have not been,” his mother said mildly. “What on earth do you do in all the hours you spend together?”

Unbidden, an image of Syn in an all but transparent shift, skin flush with pleasure came to mind.

He cleared his throat, fairly certain his mother could read his mind. "We are friends, nothing more. We discuss magic and plants and the gods. She is still full of questions," he added fondly.

"And if I asked her, who cannot lie to me, would she say the same."

"If you feel the need to distrust your only son go and find out," Loki snapped, getting to his feet.

His mother called out after him, but he strode from the room, heedless of her cries. His pique lasted though the halls, all the way to Syn's parlor, where he found her dozing on her sofa.

For a moment, he indulged himself in a fantasy of waking her with his mouth on her breasts and hands on her sex. It would be simple enough to close and bar the door for a little privacy. Then the oddness of the situation struck him. He had never seen her sleep in the middle of the day. To the contrary, she was constantly in motion, never tiring. 

Stepping farther into the room, he reached down to shake her awake and found her hot to the touch - almost painfully so. He snatched his hand back with a hiss, then called out to her.

She groaned and lifted a hand to rub at her eyes, blinking them open. "What is it?" Her voice was hoarse and she winced a little as she spoke.

"Are you all right?" he demanded, then forced himself to soften his tone. "You're burning up."

Another groan, and she rubbed her head, then the back of her neck, attempting to sit up. "Oh, I fell asleep. I think I may have a touch of flu."

He reached out and stroked her hair back from her face, finding it damp with sweat. "How long have you been ill?"

"I felt tired the last day or two. I didn't think much of it. But now. . ." She pressed her hand to her forehead. "I must have a fever."

"I'll fetch my mother," he offered, irritation at Maiza forgotten. 

"Oh, no. Don't trouble her," Syn mumbled, already drifting back to sleep.

He hesitated scarcely a moment before turning to do just that.

His mother required only the barest of apologies before following him to Syn’s parlor. She studied the feverish Alfan a moment, pressed the back of her hand to her scalding forehead frowning, then banished him from the rooms as she called for Muru, Ruwa and some servants.

Loki paced the halls as the women saw to her. Muru poked her head out to update him a few times. They had stripped her and bathed her in an attempt to get her fever down. Ruwa had some skill with herbs and and made up two potions to help the Alfan sleep easily and hopefully bring the heat down even more. Though Muru said that poor Syn had thrown up at least one of said tinctures.

When he was finally allowed in to see her again she was tucked into bed with a pleasantly herb scented cloth on her chest and another across her forehead. The servants had taken away her damp clothes and linens and Ruwa and Muru had gone to the library to see if there was any information on similar illnesses. Fevers and flu weren’t completely unknown on Jotunheim, but they weren’t common. Frost giants prided themselves on being of healthy, sturdy stock, more so than the residents of the other realms. Loki recalled being sick a few times in his life, mostly as a child when he was still small and weaker than normal. It had been decades since he’d had so much as a sniffle.

Maiza stood next to him as he studied Syn. “She’ll be fine. She’ll just need time to fight it off.”

“You’re sure it’s just a cold?” he asked, voicing the fear he’d been grappling with since he’d found Syn sleeping on the couch.

His mother didn’t pretend to misunderstand. “Poison is not your father’s style. It’s a coward’s way.” She looked up at him. “She isn’t one of us, well adapted as she is. It isn’t surprising she would grow ill eventually.”

He paused, carefully considering his next question. “Could-Is it possible that prolonged physical contact might have cause a reaction?”

Maiza studied him, a smile quirking up the corners of her mouth. “What kind of physical contact?”

Loki grit his teeth but pressed on in the interest of helping Syn. “Intimate.”

For a moment, she just stared at him a moment. Then she tipped her head back and laughed, gripping his arm in an effort to keep her balance. “Mother,” he growled, face uncomfortably hot.

“Oh, Loki,” she said, voice thin and high pitched as she caught her breath. “Honestly. Do you think you’re to first Jotun to ever have their head turned by an Aesir?” She shook her head and gave him an indulgent smile. “I suppose every generation thinks they invented sex.”

“ _Mother_.” He was not having this conversation with her. He would flee the kingdom before he talked about his sex life with his mother.

“No, dear. Nothing you may or may not have done with her caused her to become ill. Well, anymore than you might have made a Jotun lover ill if you kissed her with a cold. Feel free to continue your, ah, contact when she’s well.”

He cleared his throat, studying the ceiling. That could have gone worse, he supposed. And he’d gotten the answer he’d hoped for. “There have been other Jotun-Aesir relations?” he asked, curiosity getting the best of him.

“Yes. Sex was invented long before whatever blood feud that began the old wars was kicked off. And desire can be far more powerful than political ties.” She patted his arm. “I promise you are not venturing into unknown territory, just rarely trod.”

Loki paused, studying her a moment. “I’m sensing you approve.”

Maiza looked almost offended. “Have I given you any reason to think I would not. I’ve been nothing but welcoming to the Alfan. And I do like how happy she seems to make you.”

Though he knew his mother meant nothing salacious by her words, he felt his face heat again. “I enjoy my time with her,” he agreed. That seemed neutral enough.

His mother patted his cheek gently. “Good.” Her expression sobered a little. “I would not reveal the depth of your relationship to your father, however.”

“Are you sure? A heart attack on his part might solve all our problems.” She gave an exasperated sigh and tilted her head. “I was just joking,” he assured her, kissing her cheek. “We’re content to keep this quiet as long as possible.”

“That’s likely for the best,” his mother agreed. “Your father is not the only one who might disapprove.”

That was almost certainly an understatement. From what he had seen and been told by Syn, she wan generally accepted here. Knowing that she was in a relationship with the prince might improve her standing even more. But it was just as likely to cause resentment and jealousy among some of the court.

He turned back to Syn’s sleeping form. “Other people’s opinions are not my concern at the moment.”

Maiza came him a half hug around the waist. “Try not to fret, Loki, dear. She’s strong. She’ll be just fine.”


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all. I apologize for the delay in posting.
> 
> For those of you who don't follow me on Tumblr, there has been a lot going on in my life the last few months. Some good, some bad. All busy. So. This is my last completed chapter for Days. I have several other irons in the fire, but this is the only unfinished solo fic I'm currently posting. I need some time to deal with what's going on IRL and get back into a good writing pattern. I've been writing Loki/Syn and other fics for over a year now and am starting to feel a little burn out.
> 
> So, I am taking a little hiatus on Days. Not long, probably a couple of weeks. No longer than the end of the month. This will give me some time to regroup and build up my buffer and make writing fun again, without feeling a deadline looming.
> 
> I am NOT abandoning the fic. I know where it's going and how it ends and will complete it. If there are any new developments I will post them on my tumblr.
> 
> Thanks for understanding.

Syn had been having awful dreams. Fever dreams full of madness and death. She was aware enough to know they were dreams, at least most of the time, but still too far gone to find any comfort in the fact.

There were a few things she knew were real. Maiza and Ruwa rousing her enough to pour foul tasting medicines down her throat. A few shockingly cold baths attempting to bring the fever down. Loki sitting in a chair at her bedside reading softly from a book of poems.

She knew she was ill. It was the sickest she’d been since she was a small child and it frightened her a little. The Jotuns helping treat her didn’t seem overly concerned about the severity of her illness, so maybe this was just how illnesses happened here. Still, she knew enough about healing to be afraid of how long her symptoms were lasting.

It was very late and quite dark when she woke up from her latest bloody dreams to find Loki at her bedside again. She must have made some sound, because he glanced up from his book to smile at her. “How do you feel?”

She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, carefully pondering the question. “Overheated and miserable.”

“You’re forming coherent sentences,” he offered. “That’s progress.” She opened her eyes in time to see him lay his book down and shift to kneel beside the bed and take her hand in both of his.

His hands were blissfully cool against her skin and she sighed. “I might be on the mend,” she admitted. “There’s a light at the end of the tunnel.”

He pressed a kiss to the back of her hand. “I’m glad.”

“Have you been worried?” she murmured, resting her cheek on her pillow and studying him. She had no idea how long she’d been drifting in and out of sleep, but it felt like weeks. He looked exhausted, as it he had been sitting up with her.

He rubbed his thumb along the back of her hand. “My mother said there was no need to worry.”

She smiled. “You’re dodging the question.”

“Ah, you _are_ feeling better.” He let go of her hand, only to reach out and stroke her cheek.

She closed her eyes at the chill of his fingers. “So you were worried.”

“Perhaps a bit. Here and there.”

“I suppose it’s only fair. I’d be worried about you, if you were ill.” She sighed. “You read to me. I remember your voice, but not the words.”

“Well then, the books will all seem new again when you read them properly.”

“You will have to leave me a list,” she told him sleepily.

He stroked her hair gently. “Rest. You’ll feel even better once you sleep.”

Leaning her head into his touch, she told him, “I’m so hot and you feel so good.”

There was a moment of silence as he continued to stroke her hair. Then his hand left her and she sighed, disappointed at the loss. Disappointed, that is, until she felt the blankets covering her lift and Loki slid into bed beside her.

He wrapped his long arms around her, tucking her back to his chest, and pressed a kiss into her hair. “Better?”

It was utter bliss, having him there behind her, cooling her skin. She didn’t respond with words, simply cuddled into him and humming in pleasure.

With another kiss to her hair he ordered her to sleep. She drifted off before she could answer.

Her fever broke that night. When Maiza came to check on her in the morning she found Syn and Loki both awake, he in his chair and she sitting up in bed, their respective manuscripts spread over the covers and a lively debate about illusion magic the only thing bringing color to Syn's cheeks. If the Jotun queen suspected that anything improper had occurred during the night, she didn't breathe a word of it.

Lack of fever did not mean she was ready to attack the worlds again. Syn was tired and weak from her extended illness and it was decided - with little input from her, she hastened to point out - that a few more days of complete rest would do her well. Syn chaffed at the inactivity, but was granted unlimited guests. The little girls brought her sweets and trinkets from the market, as well as interesting rocks they’d found above ground. Rashira tried to bring her snow, but it melted by the time she reached her bedside. Syn then shared with her the secrets of making tree sap candy in fresh snow and didn't see either of the little ones for some time. She hoped there weren't any trees with poisonous sap for them to stumble across.

Ruwa brought her books and cared for her plants. They discussed herbology and medicine and Jotun healing manuals joined the growing library Syn called hers. Muru brought her palace gossip and patiently brushed and braided her hair in the intricate style Maiza had said she could use. After several days of the sickbed her hair was something of a disaster and Syn was grateful for the help.

And then there was Loki.

Loki brought her food and games. He attended his father's council meetings and brought back copious notes. They wrote and edited their books together, trading chapters for the other opinion and proof reading. When she grew tired, he cleared her bed for her and sat and read to her quietly while she dozed.

"Are there Jotun courtship rituals?" she asked one evening, feeling oddly mischievous. It was after supper, the dishes piled up on a side table in her parlor waiting for a servant to come take them. She had successfully argued to get out of bed and sit on the chaise in the parlor. It had felt like a grand victory, to finally be out of bed for a protracted period of time. She was tired, though, and knew she would probably be back in bed before long.

Loki glanced up from his writing at the question, expression somewhere between startled and sardonic. "Is that to be a chapter in your field guide?"

"Will it take a whole chapter?" she teased.

"I doubt it. There's no specific ritual, or anything. There's flirting. Stolen moments in corners. If it get serious it's usually brought before the couple's parents to make sure there's no objections."

She decided it best not to point out that up to a point that sounded rather like their relationship. "That sounds very mundane and business like."

With an arched brow, he asked, "How is it done on Alfheim?"

"It's very complicated, at least in the noble classes," she told him. "There's different stages and a very particular order must be kept."

He put down his pen and leaned back in his seat. "You've piqued my curiosity."

Putting her own pen and paper down she resettled on the chaise, folding her hands and clearing the throat like a tutor about the begin a lesson. The little display made him smile, as she'd hoped it might. "It begins with a present. The gentleman sends it to his intended through an intermediary, a sister, if possible, but a close friend or even a trusted servant is also acceptable. It should be something small, and pretty, suitable for display in the home. It's considered his announcement of intent, letting the lady know he would like to begin a courtship. If she likes him and wants to be courted, then she displays the gift in the home and sends him one in return, usually a token he can wear, like a brooch or a scarf. If she likes him, but cannot be courted at the present, due to family obligations or travel, she returns the gift, open and unwrapped, with a note indicating when a better time would be. If she is uninterested in him, she returns the gift to him rewrapped and the matter is dropped."

"That does sound rather convoluted."

"And that's just the first step. Then there's a particular number of outings they must attend together, more presents back and forth. Generally, her male relatives take him out drinking or hunting or fishing as a way of initiating. It takes months, sometimes years depending on the stations of the couple and the size of their families." She shook her head. She had always looked forward to being courted with a blend of excitement and dread. There were a lot of rules to follow and traditions to be upheld, not her favorite thing on the best of days. But surely the excitement one felt opening that first present was worth all the other trouble.

Loki was watching her intently, in a predatory way he sometimes had, though rarely aimed at her. It was when he most looked like his father, though she would never say so. "Has anyone ever sent you a gift like that?"

Syn pursed her lips, not really wanting to answer. "Once. Before I left for Asgard." Lir was a nobles’ son, a friend of hers for as long as she could remember. He was going to be very wealthy and very powerful someday. She had heard whispers most of her life of what a nice pair they made and what a good match they would be. When she'd received the polished wooden carving, dropped off by his youngest sister, she'd felt none of the excitement she'd hoped for as a girl. Just dread and the nagging doubt that he hadn't sent it because he liked her, but because he knew he was supposed to.

"I sent it back rewrapped," she added, before Loki could ask. "And left for Asgard a fortnight later."

"And the boy? Did he find a new object of his affections?"

She didn't bother to inform him Lir was no more boy then he was. "I don't know. Last I heard he was running his father's ships and making them twice as much money as they had before." There were probably girls out there who wanted to leave a trail of broken hearts and ruined men in their path. Syn was not one of them. She hoped Lir found happiness, either in the arms of another woman or in his ships. She didn't need anyone pining for her.

"Couples sometimes exchange tokens," Loki said suddenly, as if the thought had only just come to him. "Especially before battle or long hunts."

Intrigued, and grateful to have the change of subject, she asked, "What kind of tokens?"

He shrugged, looking vaguely embarrassed at having brought it up. "Little things, easy to tuck into armor or a hunting pouch. Usually something handmade. Hair used to be common."

Her nose wrinkled a little. "Hair."

"A lock of it, braided. You know how we like our braids. Men wear them on their belts or around their wrist like a bracelet. The old superstition was it would bind the lovers together. So if one was lost, the other could find them."

Syn smiled. "That's rather romantic."

"It is, isn't it? Not very Jotun-like." He cleared his throat and glanced down at his half written page. "I spoke to my mother, when you were ill. About. . . us."

Her brows went up. That did explain some of the knowing looks Maiza had been giving them the last few days. Syn was mostly surprised he had found it in him to bring it up to someone, especially his mother. "Any insights?"

"She said we aren't the first Jotun and Aesir to . . . Have relations."

She should _not_ be blushing. "Well, that's reassuring."

"They are often fleeting, however." He was watching her intently, though she wasn't entirely sure what reaction he was looking for.

Hesitantly, she asked, "Do you feel that bodes ill for us?"

He twirled his pen through his fingers. "I think every young couple believes they are the exception to history. So I don't know what is reasonable confidence in our bond and what is youthful superiority. But I hope that we can overcome whatever obstacles-"

"I love you." The words spilled out of her in the middle of his speech. She almost felt bad, the way he snapped his mouth shut and stared made her think she'd interrupted something he had practiced. When he continued to stare at her without responding, she added, "If you think that might help."

Abruptly, he stood, papers scattering, and closed the distance between them. He knelt before her chaise and leaned in to kiss her. "I love you," he whispered against her mouth. "I think it helps quite a bit."

She smiled and slipped a hand into his hair, stroking it back from his face. "Did I startle you?"

"A little," he confessed. "But it was a very good surprise." He leaned forward to rest his forehead against her shoulder and she leaned her cheek against the silk of his hair. "I will find us somewhere to be together. Privately."

"Soon," she muttered into his hair.

"As soon as you're well," he promised.

She nodded and they sat together for a moment, then he leaned back to kiss her again. "Are you tired?" he asked her. "I can help you to bed."

Fatigue had started to drag at her and bed sounded heavenly. Still, felt like something should be done to mark the occasion. At her nod, he leaned back and helped her up. She didn't immediately go to the bed chamber door, but to her desk. She drew out the little knife she used to trim the branches of her plants. Hunting around at the hair at the nape of her neck, she found the base of one of the smaller braids, perhaps half the width of her littlest finger. Carefully, she snipped it off with the knife and used a bit of twine to tie off the cut end.

She brought the lock of hair to him and took his hand, turning it palm up and coiling the braid into it. "I don't imagine any of those warriors of old had a token of such an odd color."

He closed his fist over the hair and bent, kissing her fiercely. "I will treasure it all the more for its rarity," he promised her in a rough voice.

"Good," she whispered. She flattened a palm on his cheek, stroking the hard planes of his face, tracing the raised lines of tribal marking with her thumb. "I cannot wait for privacy with you."

His smile was wicked and heated her blood. "Soon."


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! Probably two more chapters after this one and then it will be the end of Part One. I originally was going to split this into two separate stories, but after plotting out the second part it's really not long enough for it's own fic. So there were be a Part One and Part Two.

Loki’s mother was from a family of artists. The only child of only children, when her parents had died - centuries ago, when Loki was but a boy - she had inherited all they owned. It had been mostly personal effects, some art and jewelry, a few heirlooms. There was a certain irony in the fact that the high queen of the Jotun came from such incredibly humble beginnings.

There was one thing of value that had passed down to her, that very few knew about. Maiza’s family had lived in a cabin in the outskirts of the capital tunnels, right at the edge of the Northern mountains, where the stone turned crystalline. Technically, when she died it would be passed down to Muru, as her first born. But for the moment it was available for all the children to use. And a few days later, when Syn was given a clean bill of health and permission to leave her rooms, Loki decided it was the best place - possibly the only place - that they would be able to get a moment’s privacy.

Well, preferably several moments.

In an attempt to be something approaching subtle they didn’t just ride off in a wagon together. He gave her a time and location to meet at and packed his bag in secret. He made it known he’d be going off on a private hunt, something rare but not unheard of. Syn’s excuse had something to do with hunting down a particular plant that only grew in a particular spot near the mountains. Or maybe it was a book that was at a private library somewhere. Or a glass blower. She seemed the have taken refuge in confusion, giving everyone a different answer. Well, more likely, a different hypothetical quest as she could not directly lie about their plans.

In the end, he imagined it didn’t matter. Young people in love were never as subtle as they thought they were and he and Syn were certainly no exception. The coincidence of them both being gone at the same time would be noted and commented on. By the time they got back everyone would know, or at least strongly suspect, that they had been together. There would be fall out, there was no way to avoid it. But he would deal with that when it came. The next few days were for him and Syn and no one else.

He found her where he had told her to wait, on the surface, near the hot springs they had spent such an enjoyable afternoon at. She was bundled up in enough layers to be all but unrecognizable, but she bounced and waved when he approached her on his horse.

“You’re all right?” he asked, sliding out of the saddle to scoop up her bag. “Not too cold?”

She shook her head, hugging herself. “I’m fine. Can still feel all my fingers and toes.” She watched him strap her bag onto his saddle. “Only one horse?”

“Taking two would have been commented upon. We are still making an attempt at subterfuge, are we not?”

“Oh, of course. The clandestine nature of our affair is half the fun.”

He grinned at her and tugged her scarf down so he could bend and kiss her. “I knew it. You’re only here for the furtive schemes.”

She tucked herself close to him, tucking her hands into his jacket as she held him. “Yes. I have always wanted to live out some sort of over wrought romance novel and you’ve been a convenient patsy for that.”

Without warning her, he scooped her up into his arms, grinning at the little squeak she gave. “I shall have to make it worthy of your girlish dreams then, shan’t I?”

“I look forward to your attempts.” He kissed her again before setting her on the back of the horse and swinging up behind her.

Overland was by far the fastest way to his ancestral home. It was the only reason he had taken her out on the surface so soon after her illness. He debated between taking it slow and being out longer versus pushing their mount to his limits and getting them there sooner, if somewhat wind burned. Once they began, it was obvious Syn had sufficiently bundled herself up and wasn’t feeling any adverse effects of the wind. So he dug his heels in and pushed, keeping her tucked against his chest in an effort to keep her warm and protected.

The entrance to the cabin, as his mother had always called it, was in the foothills, marked by a collection of quartz standing stones. He spotted them glinting in the early afternoon light and was relieved, both that the long ride was over and that there was sufficient shelter for their horse to rest and eat.

Syn was dozing a bit as he pulled up on the reins, slowing them as they reached the stones. He helped her down and untied their bags before leading their mount to the sheltered nook that boasted some grazing. He poured out feed to supplement the greenery and checked to make sure their was water available and went to join Syn at the cabin entrance. He hoped not to come up for anything more than brief checks until it was time to leave.

The standing stones marked the top of a set of deep cut and well worn stairs. Syn had started down them, one hand on the wall and a small back slung over her shoulder. Loki scooped up the rest of their things and followed her down. At the base of the stairs there was an intricately carved door with a lock in the center of it.

He had slipped the key from his mother’s dresser the day before. It turned smoothly and he pushed the door open with a soft creak of hinges. Together, they stepped inside.

The cabin was dimly lit and covered in dust, though the furniture didn’t appear any worse for the wear. It was, however, as cold as it had been on the surface. Loki and Syn exchanged a glance and shared a brief moment of silent conversation. Then they moved, all but in unison, he to start a blaze in the fireplace and she to tug the protective dust cloths off the furniture and try to uncover the skylights.

She hummed as she worked and he found himself settling into the oddly comfortable domestic chores. Less than half an hour later the main room was tidied and bathed in diffused light and the bed had had its sheets changed and pillows fluffed. The fire was blazing merrily, warming the rooms enough that Syn had shed several layers. She wore one of her more Jotun inspired dresses, that showed hints of shoulder and midriff. He rather appreciated the slight provocation. He had never ferried a woman off for a weekend of lovemaking. Any encouragement from her made him feel less like a lech.

Once the place was tidy and warm they settled on the rug before the fire and ate some of the fruit, dried fish, and hard bread he had packed. It was too late for lunch and too early for supper, but they’d ridden far and he expected to be up rather late. He was trying not to think about it too hard. Perhaps she was still tired from her illness. Or she might need time to warm up to the main event, so to speak. This was such a strange situation, he wasn’t entirely sure what the proper procedure was.

Syn solved his dilemma by finishing off the last of her fruit, washing it down with some tea, then leaning forward to kiss him deeply. Her hands fisted in the loose material of his shirt and he was forced to wrap his arms around her as she all but climbed in his lap.

“Your eagerness is flattering,” he murmured against her mouth.

She lifted her head only enough to meet his gaze. “You’ve been trying to decide whether to stare at my mouth or my breasts for the last fifteen minutes. Don’t pretend you weren’t right there with me.”

He chuckled and tangled his hand in her hair to draw her in for another kiss. He could taste thorn fruit and the sweet honey she’d smeared on her bread. Her hands were warm, even through the linen of his shirt, and he ached to feel that heat on his skin, everywhere.

Before she could make any progress divesting him of his tunic he slid his arms under her and stood, hauling her up. The motion elicited a little surprised squeak. “No tumble in front of the blazing fire?” she teased as he carried her towards the bed chamber.

“I intend to have my way with you for quite some time,” he informed her, enjoying the way her breath quickened at the announcement. “I want to make sure you’re comfortable and that rug just won’t do.” He set her on the bed, following her down onto the cool silk of the turned down sheets. “We can try it out later,” he added, pressing a kiss into the soft skin of her throat.

Her breath hitched and she tangled her hands in his hair, stroking urgently as he kissed down the column of her neck. He lapped at the dip between her collarbones. Then his hands went to the ties at the front of her bodice and started to tug them loose.

“Are you going to quote erotic poetry again?” Her voice was husky when she spoke.

“I was rather hoping you’d do the honors.” The laces came free and he eased the bodice open and down her arms. He stroked the pale skin of her breasts with both hands, then bent to kiss one, lapping at her nipple. “As my mouth will be quite busy.”

She sighed softly, back arching a little to bring herself closer to him. “Alfan poetry isn’t as evocative as yours,” she told him, still breathy.

“Still. I’d love to hear it.” Especially from her lips, voice breaking as he drove her closer to her peak.

He heard her sigh again as he drew her nipple into his mouth, sucking lightly, then harder as he felt it respond.

“Love shakes within my breast,” she said finally, and he smiled against her skin, kissing a slow line across her chest to tease her other nipple as he had the first.

“Love tames me,” she continued, arching again as he suckled her. “Bittersweet and tempting. “My limbs loosen at the touch of my lover’s hand.”

Breasts thoroughly worshipped, he bent and kissed the soft skin on her stomach, hands untying the drawstring that held her skirt on her hips. Once undone he eased the diaphanous fabric down her long legs, tossing it carelessly to the floor.

He leaned back to look at her them, nude and reclined on the bed and all his. He had never seen her completely naked before; she had kept her shift on in the hot springs. Her skin was pale white, dotted with freckles here and there, such a contrast to the cool blue of his hand resting at her hip. 

“You are so beautiful,” he whispered, suddenly amazed that he was here, with her.

She smiled widely and sat up, muscle rippling in her stomach. “My love, you have cooled my heart long ago burned,” she whispered just before kissing him. He could tell she was still quoting whatever poem she had memorized. But still it seemed as if she was speaking directly to him. Perhaps that was why she’d chosen that particular poem.

He slid one arm around her, lowering his other hand to cup her sex. She made a quiet noise into his mouth, her folds already soft and slick with arousal. He teased her, stroking his finger tips against her, until she was rocking lightly against the touch.

The kiss broke so she could breathe and he could press more kisses down her jaw. “My love, you enchant me,” she breathed. He slid one blunt tipped finger inside her and she sucked in a breath, rocking firmly against the touch. “Brighter than the farthest stars,” she continued, voice wavering. “Softer than the finest veil. Stronger than the highest mountain.”

He added another finger and her voice broke. His thumb grazed her clit and he lifted his head so he could watch her. The last time, at the hot springs, he had loved the way she came apart for him. Her gasps, the expressions she’d made. They had danced in his dreams and waking thoughts for days afterwards.

This time was much the same. She grew hot under his hands, arching and writhing at his touch. When her climax came she threw her head back and called out his name, spasming around his fingers fiercely. He eased her through it, just as he had in the pool, then gathered her up to his chest as she cooled. He would never, ever grow tired of shattering her that way.

Before long her hands were moving on him, slipping his shirt off and unlacing the fall of his pants. When he was as nude as she, she leaned back to study him as he had her. He could feel his skin heat at the intensity of her gaze.

After a moment she said, “At the risk of sounding like an untried maiden, I do have some concerns about logistics. Given how much bigger than me you are.”

He grinned widely. “Are you saying you’re not certain it will fit?”

Her cheeks were pink with embarrassment. “In so many words.”

“My ego thanks you, whatever words you choose.” Loki sat up, bracing his back on the head board, before reaching out and pulling her close again. “I suppose we’ll have to be a bit inventive,” he told her, kissing her.

She sank into his kiss, shifting so she straddled his hips. He cupped the back of her head, deepening and roughening the kiss in an attempt to distract and relax her. She groaned a little and rocked on him, so the head of his cock slipped through her slick folds and notched at the entrance of her sex. Her fingers tangled in his hair and he felt her resettle her knees on the plush mattress. He braced a free hand on the small of her back, helping her balance as she began to rock on him.

It was very slow and intimate. She eased down slightly, then retreated, only to press a little farther with the next thrust. Despite her obvious arousal, Loki was shocked at how tight she felt and thought, perhaps, she’d been right to have concerns on size. She gave no signs of discomfort, though, simply kept up the slow, careful introduction of his body to hers.

Finally, finally, he felt her accept the last few inches, rear settled on his thighs. She was breathing hard, a sheen of sweat on her pale skin. For a moment, she just rested her forehead on his. “All right?” he asked her, voice tight.

She swallowed hard, but nodded. She tipped her chin to kiss him tenderly, then began to move on him properly, long slow strokes.

He leaned back on the head board, holding her hips lightly, so he could watch her, the way her muscle rippled beneath her pale skin. Very deliberately, he slid one hand forward to stroke her clit. Her whole body shuddered at the touch and her pace increased. He stroked her in counterpoint to her rhythm. Soon she was moaning his name and growing hotter again. Loki lifted his hips, thrusting up into her a few times until she tipped over the edge.

Watching her ride it out was breathtaking. _Feeling_ her ride it out made him see stars. She slumped down onto his chest as the last of the spasms shook her. He stroked her back gently as she relaxed.

When she stirred, it was only to lift her head and give him a confused look. “You didn’t-?”

He grinned and curled his hands around her hips. “I’m not done with you, yet,” he whispered, watching her eyes widen.

The next hour or so was a haze of different positions. Loki lost count of how many climaxes he brought her to. When he could deny himself no longer he took her from behind, with her braced on a mountain of pillows. She came one last time, gasping his name just as his own pleasure roared through him. He buried himself inside her, eyes closed, lost in the scent and feel of her.

Afterwards, they sprawled across the bed, tangled together, boneless.

“That,” Syn said after a long stretch of silence. “Was worth the wait.”

He chuckled and stroked a hand along her flank. “And we still have two more nights here.”

She groaned and closed her eyes. “Are they all going to be like that? Because I may not survive the experience.”

“No, this was a special occasion.” He bent close and kissed her shoulder. “In the future I’ll tumble you with speed and efficiency.”

Her laugh was soft and affectionate. “What a relief.”

After dozing a bit, Loki got up wrapping a sheet around his waist and went to fetch them food and wine. Watching her suck frost fruit juice off her fingers was more than any sane man could withstand and he made love to her again, making a bit of a mess of the bed, before falling asleep wrapped up in each other’s arms.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay. I've been a bit under the weather this week, and a burned hand slowed my writing and editing down a bit. I am hoping chapter 17 will post Sunday as usual.

It was the most pleasant weekend of Syn’s life. Loki hunted in the foot hills for rabbit and game hens. She tested out her knowledge of plant life by gathering them root vegetables and herbs to make stews or flavor the meat. The cabin was small and cozy. They lounged on each other, reading, working on their books or simply watching the fire. 

And, of course, they made love. Several times a day. She had never had a lover like Loki. Attentive, responsive, tender and fierce. It was exhausting, in all the best ways.

On the third day, they had to pack and clean up in preparation for heading back to the palace. Neither were particularly eager to do so.

She bundled herself up into her many layers as Loki doused the fire. He straightened and joined her at the doorway. “When we get back, there are likely to be repercussions.”

“You mean people might ferret out what we’ve been up to out here?” she teased. 

“Well, you are incapable of lying about it.” He slid his arms around her, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “I want you to know, whatever happened, we are in this together.”

She liked that. And how safe she felt in his arms. “Together I imagine we can do anything,” she said, resting her head on his chest.

The ride back was silent by necessity, the wind whipping past them with the speed of the horse. He dropped her off at the entrance to the long stairs and took the horse back to the stables. She saw no one she knew on the way back to her rooms, which was likely or the best. She felt a bit like she was walking on air.

That feeling lasted until the next morning when Maiza visited her parlor.

Syn knew the moment she looked at the queen’s face that this was not going to be a pleasant, friendly conversation. She put aside her writing and gestured wordlessly to the chair across from her.

“I will not ask you what transpired the weekend you and Loki both disappeared,” the queen began. “I don’t believe it is my business. You are both of age. But I feel I must warn you there will be consequences.”

After taking a moment to carefully choose her words, Syn asked, “If we are of age why must there be consequences?”

Maiza sighed softly. “Love is sometimes quite simple. You meet, you grow close, you fall in love. Even in politics it can be simple. Arranged marriages are occasionally well suited. Girls claimed by princes can find a way to love them.” That was was said with a certain degree of sorrow. There was a story to Maiza and Laufey’s marriage, Syn realized, and it wasn’t entirely happy.

“But sometimes - often - love for princes and princesses is not easy.” The queen looked over at Syn. “And nothing between Jotun and Aesir is ever easy.”

Syn looked down at her work blindly. “You seemed to be encouraging our relationship.”

“I have. And I do not regret that. You’ve made Loki very happy. And he you, I believe. But it’s possible I was thinking as a mother and not a queen.” She smiled wryly. “It is an easy thing to do sometimes. Perhaps someday you will know the struggle of being so torn.”

“Did Laufey send you here?” Syn asked quietly.

Maiza shook her head. “He did not order me here, if that’s what you are asking. But he has become aware how serious you’ve become and he is going to make his concerns known.”

“Do you know why he hates me so?”

The queen sighed a little. “Laufey is a man who resists change. It’s not that he longs for war. He isn’t mad. But he doesn’t trust a world where he and Odin are not at odds. I believe you were a peace offering. An ambassador who couldn’t lie. But Laufey cannot trust an olive branch. He will always be expecting thorns.”

Personally, Syn wasn’t entirely sure Laufey wasn’t right. Odin and her father didn’t trust Laufey any more than he trusted them. But she suspect that even if she wasn’t a proper olive branch she was a step in the right direction. “If he does want a truce between the realms wouldn’t a relationship between Loki and I work in that favor?”

“It would, on paper. But in reality it may bring long buried resentments back to life. I do not know how our people would react to an Aesir queen on the throne.” Maiza looked at her. “And I don’t know if you have really thought of what your life would be like were you to stay with Loki. What if he wished to take another wife?”

The thought of it was like a punch to her chest. She and Loki had never discussed such a thing. They had never even really discussed getting married themselves. She would rather hope he wouldn’t want another wife if he had her. But this was not her culture or her customs. She couldn’t force him to live life to her expectations. Multiple spouses had been a part of Jotun life for centuries. In fact, if she did try to prevent him from taking other wives then it might make the Jotun people dislike her more.

Maiza seemed to have read her thoughts on her face. “You have been a good ambassador. I don’t doubt you and Loki care for you. I don’t doubt that you love and respect our culture. But respecting it and being the queen of it are two entirely different things.”

Syn swallowed at least twice before she could speak. “That doesn’t mean it’s impossible.”

“Is there really no Alfan or Asgardian who has ever caught your eye?” Maiza asked with a gentle smile.

“There is no one like Loki. I shouldn’t think I’d have to tell you that.”

The older woman smiled at that. “Oh, Syn.” She stood and crossed the room to hug her gently. “For you, I wish the realms were different. And I hope you find a way to do the impossible.”

Maiza left soon after that and Syn found herself unable to return focus on her work. So she tucked it away and went hunting for Loki.

He was not in his parlor or the library. She ventured up to the training yard, on the off chance he was burning off energy there. He wouldn’t have gone out without telling her, of that she was sure. Running on instinct, she headed to the chapel. There, she found him standing before Tanet’s shrine. His mouth was moving, but whatever he was saying - or praying - was too quiet for her to hear.

“Your mother came to see me,” she said when it looked like he’d paused.

Loki turned to look at her. “Grim news?”

“Fairly dire,” she conceded, coming farther into the temple. “She feels there’s repercussion coming.”

He sighed and turned to her, holding out an arm to pull her to him. “She’s probably right. I have been avoiding my father. He wants a meeting.”

“He’s going to send me away, isn’t he?” she asked quietly.

His arm tightened on her and he bent a little to rest his chin on top of her head. “I may be able to make him see reason.” He didn’t sound particularly confident about that.

Syn shifted a little to look at Tanet’s statue. “Why do he and Lyra never have a happy ending? All the stories I’ve read of them end in them parting.”

Loki sighed deeply. “Theories vary. More modern tales do try to reconcile them. I think they’re just too powerful. And, in some ways, too different. Tanet travels, playing his tricks and aiding the Jotun. He obeys only his own whims and therefore avoids being pinned down. Lyra is defined by her responsibilities. Much as she might like to set them aside and run with Tanet, she can’t. The realm would crumble to chaos if she tried.”

She leaned her head against his chest, listening to his heart beat. “It’s a very sad tale for your gods.”

He kissed the top of her head. “Jotuns don’t like happy endings. We don’t trust them.”

“That doesn’t bode well for use, does it?

His arm tightened again and she felt him nod. “No. No it doesn’t.”

*

The call came from his father later that day. Loki had left Syn with his sisters, discussing fabrics and the latest dress cuts. It would, he hoped, distract her for a little while.

A runner found him in his parlor and informed him Laufey had requested his presence in the throne room. A small, wild part of him wanted to refuse, just to see what would happen. Perhaps Laufey would storm down here himself, forced to have this conversation on Loki’s turf and not his own.

Regrettably, he didn’t think that would help him at all. So he gathered up all the dignity he had and strode through the halls to his father’s throne room.

Laufey, to his surprise, wasn’t sitting on his throne, but was standing beneath the stone mobile, watching the realms twirl. Loki waited the space of a few breaths to be acknowledged. When he was not he straightened his shoulders and said, “You sent for me?”

“I did. I’m actually surprised you came so easily.”

Loki arched a brow. “You would have me defy my father and king?”

The old man finally looked away from the mobile to look at Loki. “It is all you have been doing for the last few months.”

“I’m afraid I don’t know-”

“I gave you every opportunity to leave her alone.” Laufey strode towards him and it was with conscious effort that Loki didn’t back away. He thought, in other circumstances, that might have impressed his father. “And yet you persist,” the king continued. “To the point of taking her to your mother’s ancestral home. Defiling it with that Alfan-”

“Watch your next words, old man,” Loki said quietly. “Patricide is a long, proud tradition in this family.”

Laufey stared at him a moment, then snorted, pacing away. “Now you remember you’re Jotun.” He had gone back to the mobile and shoved it roughly with a hand, making them spin.

“Why do you hate her so?” If they were having this conversation then, dammit, they were going to have it.

His father was silent a moment. “They sent her as if she was a gift to me. An ambassador who cannot lie. It seems so generous. But swords cut both ways, Loki. She cannot lie to us but she cannot lie to them, either. What do you think they asked her when she went home? She sits in the council meetings, learns our secrets and has no choice but to report back when asked.” He looked over his shoulder at Loki. “Your princess is a pawn.”

“You don’t give her enough credit. She has lived with her curse for centuries, she knows how to obfuscate if needs be.”

“Be that as it may, she will no longer do it here.”

Loki grit his teeth. “You can’t just send her away-”

“I can and I will. I am still king, or have you forgotten?”

Patricide was sounding better and better every minute. “I’ll find a way to let her stay.” He wasn’t sure if it was a threat or a vow. “Or I will go with her.”

Laufey stared at him a moment and for the first time Loki realized that his father had had no idea exactly how close he and Syn were. “I forbid it, Loki.”

“You have taught me since I was a boy that I was a prince who would one day be king. You will bow to no one, you told me.” He took a threatening step towards Laufey. “This is me, not bowing. I love her. I choose her. You do not get to make this decision for me.”

They stared each other down a moment. Rage seemed to come off of Laufey in waves. “That woman will never sit on the queen’s throne.”

“She will,” Loki told him and this time it did sound like a threat. “But take comfort in the fact you will be dead and not see it happen.”

“It will not happen,” Laufey growled. “The people will not stand for it. They will not accept her, nor any pale, twisted heir you manage to breed from her.”

“Watch your tongue old man.” The insults sounded just desperate enough to give him hope that he was winning. “Your reign ends when you take your last breath. No one can rule from the grave, Laufey. Try as you might.”

“Then watch me reign now, you arrogant, lovesick, coward. The ambassador goes home. You will leave here now and tell her she is no longer welcome on Jotunheim.”

Loki crossed his arms over his chest. “Or what?”

His father took a deep breath, almost as if he regretted his next words. “I will denounce you. You will be stripped of your crown and title. You will no longer be my heir, Jana will be. And you can watch her tear this realm to shreds because of your love.”

Shock stole Loki’s breath for a moment. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“I am your father and your king. I would uproot Ygdrissil herself to teach you this particular lesson.”

“What lesson?” he asked, incredulous. “What could possibly be so important-”

“Kings are bound to their people.” Laufey’s voice was quiet, which was perhaps the only thing that could have stopped Loki’s anger. “We do not get to choose for love or want but need. I did not love your mother when I married her, nor any of the queens. I married them because they were clever and politically shrewd.”

“Syn is those things.”

“But she is _not Jotun_. And she never will be.”

His hands fisted. “This isn’t a lesson. This is cruelty. It’s unfair.”

“Loki, my son, I have never claimed life was fair. Certainly not our lives.” He turned away again, walking to his throne. “I am giving you a choice. Your sister on the throne or the Alfan back in Alfheim.” He sat on the throne. “You have until sunset to decide.” Loki opened his mouth to protest again but was cut off with a warning, “You’re dismissed.”

With no choice but to obey or escalate this conversation to the physical, he turned on his heel and left.


	17. Chapter 17

He should have gone straight to Syn. Still reeling from his father’s threats, he could have laid it out for her and perhaps together they could have thought of a way out of it. He didn’t search her out first, though. Instead, he wandered the halls until he found himself in the temple once more. 

For a few moments he stood in front of the statue of Tanet, with his cocky smile and flipping coin. A proper trickster could think his way out of this. Make his father think one thing but accomplish another. He considered and rejected several plans. In the end, he couldn’t dictate who his father named his heir. Jana had as much right to the throne as he did. Younger children had claimed the crown before. The last ruling queen had been over a millennia ago, but she was well known and respected. Jana was petty and vindictive but she was still a princess. She could be queen if his father willed it.

Patricide was, he supposed, an option. His grandfather had gotten the throne that way. He didn’t think he could take Laufey in head-to-head combat, but there were a lot of ways to kill a king. He had magic, he was cunning, he could-

Loki covered his eyes with a hand. He wasn’t going to kill his father in cold blood. If for no other reason than his mother would give him “disappointed face” for the rest of his life. Even beyond her death, she would find some way to continue to be disappointed in him.

He turned from Tanet to study Lyra, the goddess Syn had an affinity with. He knew what Lyra’s advice would be. The goddess was defined by her responsibilities. She wouldn’t leave her people to a madwoman’s whims. Not for anything, not even love.

Jana couldn’t rule the realm. He couldn’t allow it to happen.

Syn couldn’t go home. He didn’t _want_ to allow that to happen.

His decision was as simple and impossible as that.

*

Gossip in the palace halls was that Loki and his father had had a loud, volatile conversation, though no one was entirely sure what had been discussed. Syn was pretty sure she knew the general topic and that she was at least tangentially related. But long after the argument was over and speculation was raging, Loki hadn’t come to talk to her. There was a small, all but impossible, chance that their fight had been about something completely different. Loki and his father hardly lacked for things to argue about.

That frail hope died when Loki appeared in her doorway, face grim.

She moved to embrace him, stopping a few feet away when he flinched. “I take it your father found out?”

“Quite.” The single word was ground out of him painfully.

“And?” she prompted.

“I’m to send you back home. As soon as possible.”

She supposed it wasn’t the _worst_ outcome. Considering he’d essentially sent an assassin on her earlier. But it still wasn’t good. Instinct told her to step closer but Loki was holding himself very still and tense and she found herself uncertain of his mood. “What are we going to do?”

He studied her face a moment, something unreadable in his scarlet eyes. Then he looked away, at some point in the middle distance. “You will be returning to Alfheim tomorrow evening. I trust that’s long enough for you to pack.”

Syn stared at him, mouth dropping open. That was not at all the answer she had expected. “Loki. What-”

“If you do not, Laufey will denounce me and make Jana the next ruler of Jotunheim.”

And now it all made sense. At least, she understood the full scope of the problem now. Jana would be a terrible ruler, in any number of ways. It was a good threat, if a little overkill. Not many men would endanger the safety of the realms just to make it clear he disapproved of his son’s girlfriend.

“There must be another way,” she said quietly.

“There likely is,” he said, refusing to look at her again. “But I’ve yet to think of it. It’s possible with time he will come to his senses and listen to reason. Waiting for that is a gamble I’m not willing to risk. If he makes her his heir there will be no going back.”

“So you’re going to just send me away?” She hated how small and sad her voice was.

His throat worked as he swallowed. “There is no other way.”

“You told me - You _promised_ me that what ever happened we would do it together.”

The words seemed to hit him like a physical blow. Finally, he looked at her. “Some promises are beyond my ability to keep.”

She stared at him a long time, as if willing him to change his mind, to soften in some way that let her know she was still welcome. But no matter how long she stared, he didn’t move.

Something in her breast seem to crack wide open and bleed, making it hard to breathe. She gave one more valiant attempt to salvage this. “This is your final decision, then?”

“It is,” he ground out, voice like shattered glass.

She stepped away from him crossing her arms protectively. “Then I suppose I’d best start packing.”

Grief marred his features and he opened his mouth. Perhaps the enormity of what he had done had finally struck him. If so, it was too little, too late. Syn turned from him and strode into her bed chamber.

Packing took all night, even with two servants helping. She had not called for them, so she presumed word had spread of her dismissal. They worked in silence, polite and efficient. Syn packed her clothes and books, as well as the manuscript she had been working on. Her plants she would leave. Perhaps Ruwa or Maiza would watch them for her. Or perhaps they would simply wither and blacken. A fitting metaphor, she supposed.

The girls came by in the morning to say goodbye. Syn didn’t know what story or excuse had been spun to explain her leaving. She doubted it was the truth. But she did nothing to correct them. 

Maiza came last, after Syn’s trunks had been taken to the Bifrost spot. Syn was lacing up her heavy outdoor boots in preparation for going topside. It was quite obvious from the queen’s expression that she knew exactly what had transpired.

“I am so sorry, Syn.”

“It was not your doing.” She looked only a the laces of her boot and not the woman she considered a friend. “You did try to warn me of the consequences.”

“I didn’t think - I hoped my son would find a different way.”

Syn begun work on the second boot. “He fears his father’s wrath. It’s not unreasonable.” That bleeding wound in her chest didn’t want to give him the benefit of the doubt, didn’t want to absolve him of blame. But what good was there in recriminations and anger? “Sometimes there are no options. We are all servants to our responsibilities.”

Maiza was silent a moment. “There are always options, Syn. It’s just that sometimes they are only bad ones.”

The second boot was tied. There was no reason for her not to go up the long stairs. She stood and picked up her cloak from where it lay. “And yet choices must still be made.” She scanned the room to ensure she hadn’t missed anything before finally turning to face Maiza. “Thank you for your kindness and your hospitality, your majesty.”

The queen looked grieved, as if she was sending a loved one to war, to slaughter. “I could write you,” she offered. “If you liked.”

Hope flared bright for a moment then died. “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” she said. “Wounds don’t heal if you continue to tear at them.” She stepped close and stretched up to kiss the queen’s cheek. “Take care of him for me,” she said softly. Maiza nodded and Syn slipped past her.

The long stair had never seemed quite so gloomy as it did on that particular trip. Once on the surface the bitter wind stung her skin, making her eyes water. She took a deep breath of the cold, snow-scented air, feeling it burn her lungs. She would miss this ragged, hard lined place. Miss, perhaps, the person it had made her.

A dark figure stood next to her trunks. At first she thought it was Loki, here for one last goodbye. She didn’t know that she could handle another conversation with him, but as she neared she saw it was not Loki but his father. Anger flared in her stomach and she quickened her pace. This was a conversation she could have.

He said nothing as she approached, eyes cautious. “I suppose you feel you’ve won,” she said when she reached him.

“It was not, contrary to appearances, a competition,” he replied, voice deep and smooth.

“What was it, then?”

“A lesson.”

They stared at each other a long time. “You underestimate him.” she said finally, because what did she have to lose at this point? “Loki. You see him as the quiet, bookish runt. He is more. And he will be more than you ever were.”

“And who, do you suppose, will have pushed him to that?” He smiled wickedly. “None of us is immortal, little Alfan. There will come a time in your life when you will no longer care what you accomplish, only what of you will live beyond your death.”

“Your son is not an extension of you, Laufey. You can’t control what he is. And the tighter you hold him the faster you will make him hate you.”

“Of course he will hate me. I don’t need him to love me or like me. I am his father. I only need him to obey.”

And that, she supposed, was the crux of the problem, really. It wasn’t about Loki or the throne or the realms. It was about Laufey, and his ego. It didn’t need to be a competition for him to want to _win_.

“I do love him, you know.” She didn’t know why she said it, she didn’t expect him to care, or for it to change anything.

Yet his voice was almost kind when he said, “I know. That’s why you need to go.”

Before she could respond, the light of the Bifrost blazed and Jotunheim was gone.

She was met by servants, come to retrieve her baggage. She went to her room without encountering any of her family members. Stripping out of her heavy winter clothes took a few minutes but which time her mother had appeared, looking concerned. “Darling, what happened?”

“Laufey didn’t tell you?” she asked, surprised. She’d been dreading defending herself against whatever tawdry accusations the Jotun king had made.

“No. He simply said he had withdrawn his acceptance.”

Oh, how she wished she could lie. Nothing elaborate. Just something small and simple. Unrest at court, a whim of Laufey's fickle nature. Something to satisfy her mother that they need ever speak of again. But no such dodge or half truth came to her, and she was forced to speak the truth. "I fell in love with the wrong man."

Her mother sank down onto the edge of her bed and patted the coverlet beside her. "Tell me."

As if the words were a spell of their own meant to draw out her secrets, Syn sat beside her mother and told her everything. Laufey's machinations, Jana's hatred and violence and the kindness of Maiza and the other sisters.

And Loki. Most of all she spoke of Loki and the fragile thing that had grown between them. The love that could have drawn together two realms or torn them apart. That would now dwindle and fizzle to nothing. All for the pride of an old man who didn't know who he was without hate and the promise of war.

When she was done, her mother wrapped her arms around her and stroked her hair as she had when Syn was a little girl wracked with bad dreams. After long moments of silence, she finally said, "Not content to read fairy tales anymore, you felt the need to become one, I see."

The words surprised a laugh out of Syn and she wiped at her eyes. "It's not a very happy one."

"The old ones aren't, you know. Happily ever after never really teaches us lessons. We remember grief far clearer than joy."

"I think I've had my fill of each," Syn said bitterly. "I always thought that if I wanted something bad enough there would be a way to make it work out. But it's not true. Some things are simply impossible." Privately she thought it might have been better to have never met him, never wanted it at all. Then she wouldn't have this aching hole in her heart that she feared would never close.

Her mother stroked her hair again. "You are young," she said softly and for once the words didn't sound patronizing. "There is more of you life ahead of you than behind. I know it's hard to see now, but it may be that there is a solution to be had, just farther down the path."

"You are being remarkably blasé about your only daughter falling in love with a Jotun."

The queen laughed softly. "You have no control over who you love, how can I hope to? A mother wants to see her children happy. It's rarely our choice in how that happens. Did he make you happy?"

"Very much," Syn whispered.

"Then I'm glad you met him. And I grieve his loss with you." She pressed a light kiss to her daughter's temple. "Rest. I'll have tea and supper sent to you. And I will think of something to tell your father that doesn't involve star crossed lovers and meddling kings."

"Thank you, Mama." She didn't imagine her father would have quite as sanguine a reaction.

Her mother kissed her head again and stood. "It will be all right, Syn. I know it doesn't seem so, But someday you'll look back and marvel at how far you've come."

She managed a small, sad smile and waited for her mother to leave before slumping down to lay on her bed. Tucking her legs up she buried her face in her pillow, pressing a hand to her chest where it still ached. She tried to will it better, to close the hole. But this wasn’t something even her magic could heal.

Perhaps it was better to just let it bleed. To let it gape un bound. Perhaps when it had bled out and healed in its own way she wouldn’t feel anything anymore.

* * *

**End Part One**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's the end of Part One.
> 
> *ducks rotten fruit and pitch forks*
> 
> I'm not done! But I do need to take a break. With Ultron looming I want to focus on my Tales From the Tower stories. Olives and I are hoping to "adapt" the events of Ultron into that universe, but we need to finish the stories we have planned, first. So I'm going to spend a couple weeks working only on those before diving into Part Two. I also need a break from Syn and Loki. I have been writing for them for almost 18 months straight now and am hitting burn out. A couple weeks of not having to anything looming for them will do me a lot of good. I promise I will finish this story, I won't leave them here forever.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! Kinda, sorta. Updates will be on as I finish each chapter, so don't expect a regular posting schedule. I apologize if there's more typos than usual, my turn around/editing time is truncated.

**Part Two**

_When You Feel My Heat_

* * *

_One Thousand Years Later_

The news came at breakfast, on a clear autumn day bare weeks after Syn’s birthday. She was seated with Boe at the small, private dining table off his chambers. It was where they started most days, going over reports and schedules while sipping tea and eating what the kitchen had prepared for them, usually eggs and bacon or ham, with some sweet fruit and pastries. They would spilt the day’s paperwork and duties based on their interests and strengths and would read over it while updating the other on news and gossip. It was, generally speaking, her favorite time of day.

When the messenger arrived she could see he had the same conundrum they all did. Which of them to give the missive to? She and Boe had hashed out their duties centuries ago. After their father died and Boe ascended to the throne it became brutally obvious that while he had many skills and strengths, he was not prepared to rule the realm all alone. Their mother, lost in her grief, had been of no help. So Syn had stepped up, taking on some of the burden and helping him run things in the chaos that was a change of rule. It had ben under the assumption it would be temporary, only until he got his feet under him and perhaps found himself a wife to take on the domestic duties of running the palace and grounds.

That have been over seven hundred years ago, and here they still were. They had a mental list of who did what. Some of it was logical. Boe had been a soldier, so he dealt with the army and navy. He also had the best head for numbers, so economic and trade matters fell under his purview as well. Syn’s strengths lay in listening and understanding people. So she dealt with social matters, listened to the protests of the people and oversaw the council when it came to law making decisions. She also ran the palace and its grounds. They shared foreign policy matters depending on the cause and which realm they were dealing with. Together, they were a far better ruler than either would have been alone. Two hundred years ago he and the council had officially bestowed upon her the title of queen. She had been content with being princess and chancellor but Boe had insisted she have a title that properly portrayed her role in the running of things. She supposed if he ever got around to marrying then she’d become queen regent.

Boe hadn’t even noticed the poor messenger, so Syn held her hand out for it. He handed it to her with a bow and backed out of the room. Her brother finally looked up as she broke the seal on the vellum and opened it.

_On this day, Laufey Leforeson, king of the Jotun realm, has died._

For a few moments the world faded away, narrowing to only that sentence, written in sparse script on thick paper. She had thought she would feel something when the old bastard died. Relief, perhaps. Triumph. Some joy in outliving the only creature in the realms she truly felt hate for. But instead there was nothing. No emotion at all really. Just a vague, anticlimactic sense of it finally being done.

She handed the paper to a now interested Boe and sipped her tea as he read it. “Well now. About time, isn’t it?” he said, stacking it with the rest of his paper work. “He’s been ill for ages.”

“Yes,” she said. “My sources say he was bed bound the last few years.” And in a great deal of pain, she imagined. Nothing less would have bedridden the king of the frost giants. “I suppose it’s a mercy.” 

Her brother gave her a canny look. “I thought you didn’t like him.”

“I did not,” she said easily, wondering if she was hungry enough for another piece of toast. “But he deserved a more dignified end.”

Boe nodded, glancing at the message again. “What now? I have no clue what Jotun funeral customs are. Will I be required to attend some sort of week long wake?”

Yes, definitely room for more toast. She imagined this would be a long few days. “No. They burn their dead on pyres, stoking the fire for days to make sure there is only ash left. Then a loved one scatters the ashes in the river for their goddess to claim. It’s a private, family affair.”

“So it’s just the coronation we’ll need to worry about.”

She could feel him watching her as she selected her toast and layered with heavily with jam. “That, too, could be a private affair. They are known for being an insular people.”

Boe chuckled. “Coronations are never private affairs. Kings like to have people see the crown put on. Look at the gala we had to sit through for mine. Poor Mother still in her deepest mourning. I barely had my head on straight but still they wanted to anoint it.” He sipped his tea and eyed her. “You know anything about Jotun coronation traditions?”

As she was, generally speaking, the resident expert on all things Jotun, she didn’t begrudge the question. She did take her time chewing her toast as she searched her memory for any relevant information. “I don’t think so, no. They happen so rarely. And as they are occasionally the result of a regicide, different kings have different needs. I’m sure they all saw this coming. For all I know they’ve been planning the party for a decade.”

“I suppose we’ll have to wait and see if an invitation comes.”

That, at least, stirred some emotion in her. Too many emotions, as a matter of fact. Dread, hope, anger, resentment. The old, invisible wound in her heart started to ache, just at the prospect of seeing him again. She breathed through it, finishing her toast in a few bites.

“I suppose we will,” she finally agreed, sucking the last of the jam off her thumb and rising to her feet. “I will see you at supper?”

“As always,” Boe said, watching her carefully. “Have a pleasant day, sister mine.”

“And you, brother dear,” she replied automatically. She gathered up her papers and strode out of the room, bracing to start her day. She would put all of this out of her mind and not worry about it. Worry did nothing. If an invitation to the coronation came. . . well, then, she would deal with that then.

*

Loki stood in the humid, swampy air and watched the pyre burn. He told himself he was just watching to make sure the flames caught. The early fall air was damp enough it had smoldered a good while before catching. Wouldn’t want the old man to burn improperly.

That was a lie. Partially a lie, anyway. If the fire went out it would just be restarted. Not the end of the world. He just wasn’t willing to admit - even to himself - why he did stand there, watching the blaze consume the former king of Jotunheim.

It wasn’t petty revenge, not entirely. He had expected to feel joy at the old man’s death, to grin wickedly over his deathbed, knowing his rule was over and Loki’s would begin. Perhaps list all the things he would do, all the ways he would be different from Laufey. The policies he would change, especially in relation to the other realms. Just to watch the color drain from the old man’s face as he realized his attempts to mold Loki in his image had failed miserably.

But in the end, it hadn’t happened. Laufey had been old and frail and wasted away to little more than skin stretched over bones. Taunting him, tormenting him with his failures, had seemed a level of cruelty Loki hadn’t wanted to stoop to. And so, in his ugly fading death, his father had managed to rob him of even petty revenge. Laufey’s last victory, and he’d never get the chance to enjoy it.

Well, he was gone, at least. Sitting in Lyra’s hands to whatever lay beyond the realms. Loki wondered if anyone was actually mourning the last king, or if they all felt some blend of relief and exhaustion that Loki did.

He heard the faint crunch of footsteps behind him, but didn’t turn. His sister, Mashira, stopped by his side and admired the fire a moment. “He’s still dead?”

“So it would seem,” he said. He glanced down at her. “Are they asking for me again?” The advisor council seemed torn between letting him have time to adjust to his father’s death and immediately moving forward with his own reign.

“They wouldn’t mind if you made an appearance,” she said, diplomatic as always. “You need to plan your coronation.”

He heaved a sigh. “Must I? Am I not properly the king unless someone slaps that ugly coronet on my head? I thought all that was required was the previous king’s death.”

“Apparently, there need to be a do-to of some sort.” She wound her arms through one of his, which meant she was preparing to play him like a lyre. “You could try to get excited about it. Your coronation will be your first official act as monarch. It could set the tone for the rest of your rule. It bears some thought.”

“Set the tone, eh?” He glanced down at her before squinting into the blaze again. It was really taking off now, despite the damp air. Well, just because the old man wasn’t here to see his revenge - petty or not - didn’t mean he couldn’t see it through.

“It’s almost time for the festival,” he said thoughtfully. “Let’s attach the coronation to that. Invite leaders from all the realms.”

Mashira stared at him as if he’d grown a second head. “Are you serious?”

Warming to his topic he nodded and turned, walking away from the pyre and back towards the stairway back home. “Yes. This is not Laufey’s Jotunheim anymore, it’s mine. We are not going to be the mysterious, villainous realm any longer. I want the other rulers to see how we live. Eat our food, watch our games. Meet our people.”

“You want to see Syn again,” his sister accused, hurrying to follow him.

It took everything he had not to stop in his tracks at the sound of her name. “It has nothing to do with that,” he said, knowing full well that if she were here she’d have called him out on his lie. “This is about proving to the other realms that it’s a new age. Odin is gone, Hoenir is gone, Surtur abdicated a few years ago. And now Laufey is gone. We need to start off on the right foot. Besides,” he added, starting down the stairs into the dark. “You don’t even know if she’ll come. Her brother is the ruler, not her.”

“And if she does come?” Mashira asked, following doggedly.

All manner of ideas flitted through his head, almost none of them appropriate to share with his baby sister. “Well,” he said finally. “I suppose we’ll find out how much she remembers.”

*

A week passed and Syn had begun to think that there would, in fact, be no more to it. Loki had never been one for large parties or balls and hated dancing. It made sense that he wouldn’t want to throw one for his coronation. He was probably already hard at work, making pronouncements and dismantling the remains of his father’s rule.

 Or maybe not. It had been a thousand years. Who knew how he might have changed over the years. It was just as likely that Laufey had succeeded in breaking him and turning him into just another version of herself. The thought depressed her utterly and made that spot in her chest ache, so she spent most of the week shying away from it and focusing on her duties.

On the eighth day her brother arrived at the dinner table waving a stack of thick paper scrawled over in elaborate script. “Unearth your dancing shoes, sister mine, we’ve got an invitation.”

Oh, by the gods, not another harvest ball. The country lords did love to show off their splendor. “When is it?” she asked, holding a hand out for the invitation he was still waving about. “I fear I’m going to have a terrible headache that day.”

“That’s unfortunate, because it’s to last a full week.” He sank into his chair and handed her the papers.

“A _week_? Who in the realms thinks-” She stopped as she looked at the invitation she now held. At the top was the seal of the Jotun king. “Oh, gods.”

“Ah, that face. I was hoping for something like that face.” Boe held up his thumbs and index fingers into the shape of Ls, as if framing her face.

She pointedly ignored him, skimming the invitation. “The fall festival,” she muttered. “He’s invited everyone to the festival.”

“You know of it, then?”

She remembered a muddy field, a roaring crowd, and a fight that might have been to the death. “I do,” she said, keeping her tone neutral. “There’s games, demonstrations of skill and strength, then a masque. It looks like he’s added a market day for artisans to show their wares. And split the games and masque into different days. Then the coronation.” She put the invitation down and reached for her wine glass, wishing it was something stronger.

“What do you think his game is?” Boe asked, watching her closely.

She took a long draught of her wine. “Why do you think I know?” She winced inwardly at how defensive she sounded.

Her brother, to her annoyance, sounded extremely amused. “Because you’re my foreign affairs minister. And you spent a year on Jotunheim and knew the prince personally. So one might safely assume you would have some sort of insight into his motivations.”

Those were very good points, which was even more annoying. She drank more wine and glowered at the chandelier a moment before responding. “He always spoke of being a different kind of king than his father. I think this may be an effort to. . . introduce the other realm leaders to his culture and people. Pull aside the curtain that Laufey drew around the realm and show us all who they really are. A new Jotunheim for a new generation.”

“Is there any way it might be a trap?”

She ignored the spike of defensiveness she felt at even that inferred accusation and focused on her words. “Anything is possible. It’s been a very long time since I knew him and he certainly had family and advisors that would plan such a thing. But my gut tells me it’s innocent. Or, rather, a different kind of plot. I sincerely doubt he means you and the other kings harm.”

Servants arrived with their meals. Tradition in Alfheim was multiple courses served over time. She and Boe had no patience for such formality and generally had salad and main course together, occasionally with tea and dessert afterwards. Syn looked at her roast and mashed potatoes and found herself suddenly nostalgic for the fruit salad served in the Jotun palace. She hadn’t had a piece of frost fruit or butter apple in a thousand years, and yet she could still taste them, as clearly as if she held one in her hand.

“The festival is in less than a fortnight,” Boe said, tossing salt onto his roast before digging in with his knife and fork. “You’d best see your dressmaker in the morning if you want anything new.”

Syn stopped with a forkful of potatoes halfway to her mouth and stared at him. “I’m not going.”

Boe’s brow arched. “Yes, you are.”

“The invitation is for you, not me.”

“It’s for the rulers of Alfheim and entourage.” He tapped the invite with emphasis. “You are my co-ruler, I filled out that paperwork myself. And even if you _weren’t_ ,” he continued when she tried to protest. “You are most certainly part of my entourage. You are coming to Jotunheim with me.”

Nausea had formed a pit in her stomach. She put her fork down. “Boe, I really can’t-”

He reached over and covered her hand with his. “I don’t fully know what happened last time, why you came home so abruptly and moped in your room for months. If you don’t want me to know then you don’t have to tell me. But it was a thousand years ago, Syn, and I _need_ you there. I’m not the most diplomatic person on my best day and these will not be best days. It’s a realm I’ve never been to that is historically hostile. Even if Loki is opening communications in good faith, we don’t know what his advisors or people think of this. You are the only Aesir to have ever gone to Jotunheim in peacetime. There were no ambassadors after you. I need your help navigating what is sure to be a mine field. And I’m sure Thor wouldn’t say no to the help either.”

She honestly felt a little lightheaded, just trying to wrap her mind around it. He was right. She knew he was right. Boe was mischievous and could tease but he wouldn’t do something she found unpleasant without a good reason. And his reasons were good. This week on Jotunheim was going to be stressful and intense, no matter what Loki’s intentions. She was the best secret weapon the Aesir had. Not going, just because she had a history with Loki and feared the pain of reopening those wounds, was inexcusable.

In an effort to hide the depth of her reaction, she fell back on an old joke of theirs. “We need to find you a wife, brother dear.”

He smiled, as he always did. “In the meantime, I remain stuck with you.”

After making a point of eating a few bites of her dinner and making her brother wait, she said, “You will need new clothes too. When I was there the people were very pleased when I made attempts to dress in Jotun fashion and embrace their culture. Our formal wear would be considered overdressed. If we both make an effort to seem at least inspired by their fashion it will help us stand out.”


	19. Chapter 19

Over the next two weeks Loki discovered he cared greatly about what he ate, very little about what he wore and almost nothing about what color the table cloths were. Mashira made him weigh in on all that and more, because if she was going to plan his coronation and festival then by the gods she was going to make him suffer, too. He met with every merchant and vendor and offended at least a third of them. They were being forced to settle for the second most popular tailor in the realm because the first one stormed out of palace yelling about contrasting colors and uppity prince regents. 

Any other sister would have given up halfway through the first day and just made all the decisions herself. Not Mashira. Either through infinite patience or a level of vindictiveness that would have made their father proud, she stuck with it, involving him in everything from appetizers to drapes to music choices.

Finally, it was done. Menus were written, table cloths were ironed and draperies were hung. The musicians knew what to play when, the throne was polished and the chandelier crystals shined. Loki had taken down the mobile of the realms that had hung in the throne room, the sight of it bringing up far too many memories, none of them good.

Mashira appeared in his chambers just as he was finishing dressing. “Father used to greet people shirtless,” she commented, gesturing the the white shirt and vest he’d donned.

“Father was apparently immune to wind chill.” He smoothed a hand down his queue and turned to her. “Other than being over dressed, how do I look?”

“Very approachable.” She came over and tugged his vest straight. “I don’t know what order the rulers will come in. It’s up to Heimdal. Servants are standing by to lead them down to their rooms once you’ve greeted them. You do intend to be nice to them, yes?”

“That is the point of all this. Making friends, proving we’re friendly.” They walked together down the hall towards the main stairs. “How they’ll react to me? That I have no control over.”

At least she didn’t disagree with him. “Surtur finally responded, he won’t be attending. I suppose he’s too ill. He sent some jewelry made of lava rock and obsidian. Very pretty, a men’s set and a woman’s. They’ve been thoroughly inspected and don’t appear to be enchanted or designed to spy on you or anything.” She looked down at her notebook, hurrying after him as they reached the stairs. “Thor of Asgard is coming alone, as is Hreidmar of the Dwarves.”

“Good Lord, how old is that man?”

Mashira shook her head. “I’m not entirely sure there hasn’t been a dozen Hreidmars all pretending to be the same one.” Loki snorted in amusement. The Dwarves were notoriously self contained an private and were, in their way, more mysterious than the Jotuns. It was entirely possible there’d been several kings using the same name and no one saw them often enough to notice they were different. It was also possible that Dwarves were functionally immortal and one of them had actually been king for three generations now.

“I assume Dallr of Vanaheim will be bringing his bride?” he prompted. They were near the top of the stair and it would be best to get this over with before he had to put on company manners. 

“According to his reply, yes, as well as the largest expected entourage of any of the other rulers.”

“I’m sure the new queen needs a fleet of maids to help her in this harsh environment.” He would not ask about the expected visitors of the last realm. He would go in blind if he had to. Asking would mean he’d never hear the end of the teasing.

“King Boe of Alfheim is bringing the second smallest entourage, after the Dwarf, despite the fact Queen Syn is coming with him.”

He bit down on a smile. Word of her being given the co-ruler title with her brother had swept the realms two centuries ago. Unable to congratulate her, or even celebrate her success in public, he had given an offering to Lyra on her behalf and wondered if it would change anything at all.

“Your composure is admirable,” his sister said, tucking her notes under one arm. “Do you want to get any gleeful dancing out before going out into public?”

“She’s just another ruler, like all the rest.” If he repeated it enough times he would convince even himself it was true.

Mashira shook her head. “You’re an excellent liar, brother.” They stepped out onto the surface where a veritable army of servants and courtiers were waiting to escort their guests down. Loki nodded to them and received a smattering of nods, bows and curtsies in return. He tried to make an effort to acknowledge those that helped his kingdom run smooth.

He went to step around the throne and take his seat when Mashira caught his arm. “Remember, she can see your lies-”

Sighing, he attempted to cut her off. “I know what-”

“And so can her brother,” she finished, silencing him. “Tread carefully, Loki. It’s been one thousand years and she is not the only ruler of Alfheim. You know better than anyone how brothers can be.”

Yes, he knew very well how brothers could be around their favorite sisters. He bent and kissed Mashira’s cheek. “As always, I will take your council under advisement.”

Her little snort indicated what she thought of that. He tossed her his most charming smile and stepped around the stone, climbing onto the enormous throne.

The Dwarf arrived first. Loki made a point of stepping down to greet him properly. Hreidmar might have been a bit greyer and more weathered than he had been when last Loki had seen him. That might also have been his imagination. The Dwarven king expressed his condolences at Laufey’s demise and thanked him for the invitation. Loki thanked him for coming and wished him a pleasant stay, then handed him off to Mashira to be assigned servants and taken down to his rooms. Rumor had it the Dwarves lived in the earth as well, so he should feel right at home in their tunnels and caverns.

The Vanirians arrived next, both looking nervous, as if not entirely sure this wasn’t all some sort of trap and Loki was going to eat them. He greeted them politely and had an almost identical conversation to the one he’d had with Hreidmar. It was far too early to be regretting this decision entirely, but he was becoming concerned he was going to get a headache from staying on company manners for an entire week.

He watched Dallr and his bride disappear down the long stair and turned back in time to see the Bifrost flare again (that patch of ground was never going to recover from all the scaldings) to reveal the Alfan entourage.

King Boe was tall and broad shouldered with a mop of dark blond hair that looked overdue for a haircut. He was dressed in traditional Alfan clothes, tunic and snug pants with a heavy, embroidered jacket over it. He wore no crown, and very little jewelry. Loki forced himself to focus on the king fully before allowing himself to look at Syn.

It didn’t help. The sight of her, after ten centuries apart, was like a powerful blow to his chest. She was different, slimmer and more graceful, though if that was just the product of age or his own imperfect memory he wasn’t sure. Her gown was simple, several shades darker blue than her brother’s outfit, trimmed in silver. It wasn’t as full skirted as he recalled her Alfan dresses, but nor was it as simply draped as Asgardian or Jotun clothes. He saw glimpses of sturdy brown boots under the skirt as she moved and had to hide a smile.

“Your majesty,” he greeted Boe, holding out a hand.

The other man didn’t miss a beat, taking his hand in a firm but not competitive grip. “Sire,” he replied, obviously not letting the fact Loki hadn’t been crowned yet throw him. “A pleasure to meet you. Thank you for the invitation.”

“I do not intend it to be the last one,” Loki told him. They released their grip and he braced for condolences regarding his father.

Instead, the Alfan king turned to his sister. “I believe you know Queen Syn, though it has been a long time.”

Syn stepped forward, her crooked enigmatic smile on her face. “Loki,” she said softly, apparently doing away with honorifics entirely. “You look well.”

Yanking her to him, dipping her and kissing the breath out of her in front of her brother, his sister, and half their courts was probably a terrible idea. It was all he wanted to do, though. He bowed low to her. “Your majesty. You are more beautiful than I remembered.”

She tilted her head, smile shifting a little. “I have fond memories of the fall festival I saw when I was here last. Especially the masque.”

He would _not_ give her the satisfaction of blushing. “I hope this week is as pleasant as your recollections.”

The smile turned enigmatic. “It would be hard to top.”

His sister materialized at his side and Syn’s expression changed, losing all sense of pretense and breaking into a broad grin. “Mashira? By the gods, look at you.”

Mashira grinned in response and stepped forward. The women embraced, rocking in their enthusiasm. Boe watched the display with an indulgent smile. Loki tried not to be jealous of the greeting his sister had gotten.

“You’re all grown up,” Syn said, holding Mashira at arm’s length. 

“It’s very good to see you, Syn. I look forward to finding time to catch up.”

Syn’s smile faltered and for an instant she looked sad. He might not have noticed it had he not memorized her expressions once upon a time. “I’d like that,” she said softly. “Let’s be sure it happens.”

“I’ll see to it,” Mashira promised her. “Come, these ladies will show you and his majesty to your rooms.” She turned her ruby gaze to Loki. “Assuming you are done with your welcome, brother?”

His eyes narrowed in irritation. “Of course.” He turned back to Boe. “I’ll see you both at the feast tonight.”

Boe inclined his head. “Until then.” He gestured for Syn to proceed him as they headed towards the stairs.

Loki had took no shame in watching them until they disappeared underground.

“Very restrained,” Mashira said dryly. “I absolutely didn’t think you wanted to rip her clothes off right here in the snow.”

“You’ve become vulgar in your advanced age,” he informed her, not looking at her. “Are we done?”

“No.” It annoyed him how amused she sounded. “The allfather hasn’t arrived yet.”

Turning back to the Bifrost site he muttered, “I still don’t think that’s a title one can inherit.”

“You can call King Thor whatever you like as long as you don’t rip his clothes off right here in the snow.”

His glare would have been deadly had she bothered to pay any attention to it.

*

It was all the same. So familiar and yet so strange. Syn was fairly certain this was not the same room she had stayed in as an ambassador, the hallways had been different and she had been farther from the royal family quarters. But the layout and decor was very similar enough it brought all the memories back.

Someone had set out a bowl of butter apples on a table in the parlor and she snatched one up, taking a huge bite. The rich, sweet taste flooded her mouth and she stifled a groan, wondering if all of the guests had gotten similar gifts or is someone had set this out just for her. Such lines of thinking were probably unhealthy. She couldn’t spend her entire time here second guessing everyone’s motivations. Unless someone gave her reason to doubt she would assume she was being treated the same as everyone else.

Boe burst through the door while she was still eating the apple. “You never told me about the engineering they do here. The sky lights, the tunnels. Do you know how long it must have taken to cut those stairs in? Not to mention the doors!”

Syn smothered a laugh. Watching her brother stare at his surroundings like a gawking tourist had been entirely enjoyable. “They are excellent craftsmen,” she said. “You’ll be equally impressed by the wares sold at the market, I’m sure.”

He flopped onto her chaise. “Tell me what to expect at the feast tonight.”

They’d spent their evening the last two weeks going over the ins and outs of Jotun tradition and culture. Everything from greetings to religion to the clothing and dances. Both of them had had full wardrobes made for the trip, including costumes for the masque. It had been a hectic time, which she had appreciated. Being busy meant she couldn’t think too hard about seeing Loki.

But now that she had seen him. . . oh, he was as handsome as she remembered. More, perhaps, with the last soft lines of youth gone. He was grown now, hard jaw and broad shoulders. And he’d looked at her with the same intensity he aways had, making her toes curl in her boots.

“The tables are low,” she said, taking a seat on the sofa. “You sit on the floor on plump cushions. It’s served family style and traditionally the women serve the men. When I was here the first time they didn’t stand much on tradition, so I don’t know that will happen now.”

“Am I going to recognize any of the food?”

She took a huge bite of butter apple. “Probably not. But we should be seated next to each other so I’ll help you out.”

“And that is why I love you so much.”

Syn shook her head, smiling affectionately. “We need to get you a wife, brother.”

The dining hall was just as she remembered it, though more chaotic than it had ever been, with so many different dignitaries trying to find their seats and balking at the unfamiliar table arrangements.

Servants led her and Boe to the head table to sit next to Loki. Of course he’d seated them with him. Boe was at his left hand, Mashira on his right. On Syn’s other side was Thor, of Asgard, looking rather mystified at the whole set up.

“You will help me avoid eating the table decorations, won’t you my queen?” he teased in his low, rumbly voice.

She smiled. Thor had always been one of her favorite people. Friendly and easy going. Good company. When his father had passed he has stepped up to his responsibilities with remarkable grace and maturity - thanks in part to the support of his mother, queen Frigga. If Loki could win Thor _and_ her brother over then his old dreams of a friendly Jotunheim allied with the other realms could be a reality.

Once the rest of the guests and court had been seated the huge platters of food were served. Walking her brother and Thor though what all the dishes were brought back memories of Loki doing the same for her, many years ago. When she looked up from her plate piled high with river fish and fruit salad she found Loki watching her. Their gazes caught and he smiled widely, popping a piece of butter apple into his mouth. She felt her cheeks heat in response to the look in his eyes and she looked away swiftly.

 The food all tasted the way she remembered. Better, perhaps. It made the poignant nostalgia she’d been fighting since arriving come back with a vengeance. She had missed this place. The culture, the food, the people. A thousand years had made it fade, had let her pretend her memories were rose colored and wishful thinking. But now she was here again and it was just the way she’d remembered it. That wound in her heart, so long closed over and ignored, started to ache sharply.

After supper they adjourned to the ball room, clustering in small groups as the edges of the room. The Jotuns and Aesir segregated, eyeing each other warily. Syn stood with Boe and Thor and refused to scan the room like a plotting general. This was supposed to be a ball and she was going to make an effort to enjoy herself if it killed her.

“I admit,” Thor said, scanning the room exactly the way Syn refused to. “This is going far better than I expected it to.”

And that was rather sadly indicative of how poorly everyone had thought it would go.

“There haven’t been any battles,” Boe agreed, sipping the wine that he’d snagged off a passing tray. “Which is usually how Asgard and Jotunheim interact. It’s not exactly been warm and fuzzy, though.”

Thor sighed. “I have to think it would be easier with a wife. Women have a way of keeping a conversation flowing. Whether anyone wants it too or not.”

Boe laughed and Syn shook her head at the both of them. “Do I need to start wife hunting for you as well as my brother, Thor?”

His grin was rather disarming. “Well if you’re offering. Though you could save us both time and marry me yourself.”

She knew he was teasing, so she replied in kind, while still making sure he knew what her answer was. “Not me, your highness. You’re far too grand for me. Unless, perhaps, I could have a second husband for everyday, and bring you out on only very special occasions.”

They both laughed and she could see Boe about to say something, when the laughter died and his expression turned thoughtful. Syn knew, even before she felt his presence and heard his voice, exactly who had come up behind her.

“Dance with me,” Loki said, without a hint of question in his voice.

Syn rolled her eyes, biting back the immediate, eager agreement that threatened to spill out. “One would think in a thousand years someone would have taught you to actually _ask_ instead of order.”

“If I ask it gives you the opportunity to say no.”

Damn him. She refused to smile as she turned to face him. “I can-”

“Oh by the spirits, Syn,” her brother said. “Shut up and dance with the man.”

Loki grinned in triumph and held out his arm. Syn made sure to glare daggers at her brother as she took the Jotun king’s arm and let him lead her out to the dance floor.


	20. Chapter 20

Traditionally, as regent, Loki should have begun the dancing with his wife. Barring that, one of his sisters. He was sure Mashira had been expecting to fulfill the role, as she had all the other queen’s duties the last few weeks. Instead, he had tracked down Syn and - thanks to some help from her brother - was now standing in the center of the empty dance floor with her in his arms. To his people, at least, it was a declaration of some seriousness.

She was exactly how he remembered her, skin soft and warm under his palm. Her dress was too form fitting for Alfheim, though not quite revealing enough to be Jotun. Still, there was a cut out at her waist that he’d slipped his fingers into. She given him a quelling took when he did so, but made no move to stop him.

The music began and he lead her in the steps. She obviously remembered the dances, as she moved with him easily. Her gaze was firmly fixed on his shoulder.

“You’re allowed to look at me,” he murmured.

“I don’t want to get a crick in my neck,” she retorted. “I recall this being a long song.”

He smiled, resisting the urge to hide it in her hair. “How is your brother liking Jotunheim?”

“Better than I had expected. Though I imagine everyone is still a bit wary.”

“Jotuns are not to be trusted?” It took effort, but he managed to keep the bitterness from his tone.

Still, whatever she did hear made her look up at him. “You cannot erase centuries of war and mistrust with one week of parties, Loki.” She held his gaze a moment, then smiled and said, almost brightly, “Speaking of untrustworthy Jotuns, I haven’t seen Jana since I arrived.”

He chuckled a little. “She’s out with the hunters, getting the last of the meat and game needed for the coronation feast. She’ll be back in time for the festival games.”

“Oh good. I was half thinking of challenging her to a rematch.”

If it was anyone else she would have assumed she was jesting. But this was Syn, who couldn’t lie. And her small, sly smile gave away nothing. “I’m sure she could be convinced,” he said cautiously. He sighed and tipped his head back. “She is not as she once was. I’ve spoken to her only a few times since Laufey’s death. She seems. . . at peace.” Syn tilted her head and he smiled faintly. “He scarred us all in different ways, it seems.

Syn looked sympathetic and she squeezed his hand lightly. “And how are your other sisters?”

“Well. Muru is wed, with a daughter of her own now. She is uninvolved in palace politics but has promised to attend the coronation. Ruwa teaches at university.”

“And Rashira?”

“Flirting outrageously with everyone she meets, man or woman. You may wish to keep her away from your brother and Thor as the week progresses.”

Syn laughed out loud, drawing looks from the crowd. “I should like to see that.”

He smiled, the sound of her laugh warming him. “What would you say if I told you I arranged this whole elaborate coronation in hopes of seeing you again?”

Sobering, she studied him, as if to determine if he was playing games or hinting at the truth. “I would say there are far less complicated ways to see me again.”

“Such as what?”

She tilted her head and smiled almost sadly. “You could have just asked.”

His eyes bored into hers. “And if I’d simply asked, would you have come?”

She was silent for a long, painful moment. “I suppose we’ll never know, will we?”

The last bars of the song trailed off softly and she stepped away. He let her go, despite the fact it went against everything he wanted. Syn dipped a polite curtsey, then turned away and walked back to her brother.

She made herself scarce for the remainder of the dancing. Loki twirled Mashira around twice, as well as a few advisors’ wives, in the interest of keeping up appearances. He was no expert, but it seemed as though everyone in attendance enjoyed themselves. An observation confirmed by Mashira when they met in his parlor after the last of the guests had wander back to their quarters.

Well, her exact words were, “So far, so good.”

“Indeed,” he agreed. “No fisticuffs. No one used the wrong fork or stepped on anyone’s toes on the dance floor. A successful party if ever I saw one.”

His sister gave him a sidelong glance. “Speaking of the dance floor. . .”

Well, that had been eight seconds longer than he’d expected her to last. “It was one dance. I’m supposed to be friendly with guests, am I not?”

“It was the _first_ dance. I refuse to believe you weren’t well aware of the statement you were making by bringing her out for the first dance.”

“She didn’t seem aware of it.” He probably didn’t sound as petulant as he felt, but Mashira still rolled her eyes.

“Honestly, Loki, how can she know your intentions towards her when you don’t seem to know them yourself?”

That was probably a good point. He had had the sense when dancing with her that they were playing a game that neither of them knew the rules to. Or, perhaps more accurately, they were playing two entirely different games. Which was only natural, he supposed. She was a political guest here and needed to act as such. Perhaps he’d been short sighted in thinking that now that Laufey was dead they could simply pick up where they left off. 

“What do you think I should do?” he asked Mashira.

She braced a fist on one hip. “Are you asking me as your sister or as your trusted advisor?”

“Either. Both.”

“Your advisor thinks she’s politically complicated. The people are hesitantly optimistic about opening our borders and making peace with the other realms. That does not, in any way, make them ready for a non-Jotun queen. And _yes_ ,” she added before he could even open his mouth. “You’re the king and you can do as you please. But do you really want to start your reign with civil unrest and distrust? Not to mention it would then look like you only started handing out olive branches as a cover to marry Syn. Which, let’s be honest, is at least some of the motivation, is it not?” She paused as if expecting an answer, then barreled ahead when he refused to give one. “So while I cannot discount the idea outright, I don’t think now is the right time. Perhaps in a few decades, once we’ve seen how this peace shakes out.”

Loki tried not to scowl. She’d said nothing he didn’t already know. Her brutal honesty was once of the reasons she was his trusted advisor. “And as my sister?” he asked.

Mashira smiled and shook her head affectionately. “I want you to be happy. And think I’ll look quite fetching as your best man.”

*

“Did you see the glass work? How do they do all of those colors? And on glass so thin? All I ever see in stained glass in red, yellow, blue and green. This is positively purple.”

Syn and Thor exchanged affectionately exasperated looks as they watched her brother positively geek out in the marketplace. Admittedly, the first time she saw the glass blowers and their wares she’d been similarly impressed. But she’d managed not to make a complete ass of herself in the process.

“For spirits’ sake, Boe,” she said. “Place an order and leave the man in peace.”

The glass blower seemed rather nonplussed at an Aesir - a realm leader, no less - showing such enthusiasm. But he happily took Boe’s rather large request and promised to have several more pieces ready before the end of the festival week.

Finally, they were able to move on. Thor, of course, was rather determined to look at the weaponsmith and hadn’t appreciated the detour into the fine arts section.

“Are all their market days like this?” he asked Syn. 

She scanned the crowd rather delighted to see how many Aesir had some out to inspect the wares. The pink and brown and black faces among the blue made her heart feel lighter. Perhaps this mad idea of Loki’s would help the realms find peace. “This is larger and more crowded than the ones I attended as an ambassador. “But it’s more or less the same. Many of the craftsmen have proper shops farther out in the tunnels so they don’t necessarily attend every market day. But this is a special occasion.”

“Your brother certainly seems won over.” Boe had wandered off to examine a richly embroidered quilt.

“Much like a spring sparrow, Boe is attracted to shiny things.” She gestured farther along the path. “Go and find your weapons, I’ll wait for him.”

Thor glanced around, apparently torn between courtesy and his love of a good blade. “If you’re sure.”

“Quite. He’ll be like this for the next dozen stalls, I promise you.”

At that bit of information, Thor nodded and went forth on his own, being swallowed up by the crowd. Syn wandered over to the dressmaker, pondering how much she wanted to horrify her brother at the masque when she heard a familiar, if unwelcome voice behind her.

“Queen Syn. I never thought I’d see the day.”

She turned slowly to face Jana. She was older, as they all were, and wore it well. Leanly muscled as ever, she now held herself with a certain confidence that had been missing when she was a younger woman. Syn thought about what Loki had said, about Laufey hurting them all in their own way, and aimed for a light, polite tone. “Jana. Welcome back from your hunt.”

The Jotun woman smiled and for once it didn’t look nasty or feral. “We’ll feast well for my brother’s coronation.”

Syn thought she even sounded sincere. “You were a fierce hunter when we were young. I’m sure the years have only improved your skill.”

Jana tilted her head, as if she wasn’t quite sure if she was being mocked or not. Apparently, she decided to extend the same benefit of the doubt that Syn was giving her. “Tomorrow is the festival games. I was thinking you might like a rematch.”

It took an amazing amount of effort not to have her jaw drop. Syn had been joking when she’d brought up the idea to Loki. But now here it was, gauntlet thrown, if a little more politely than it had been the last time. “Without cheating this time?” she asked pointedly.

Jana grinned. “I promise. My honor as a hunter.”

Oh, what the hell. Maybe she’d surprise her. “Staves. I’ll see you on the field.”

The Jotun hunter bowed politely and turned, making her way back towards the palace proper. Boe appeared at Syn’s side a moment later. “Who was that?”

“Jana, sister to the king. Leader of their hunters. She challenged me to a competition at the festival games tomorrow.” Syn debated how much to tell him as they started walking again. “We had a bit of a rivalry when we were younger. It got ugly. I think this challenge was her way of clearing the air.”

“Are you sure she doesn’t want to kill you?” Boe always knew how to get to the heart of the manner.

“Not entirely,” she admitted. “But I’m hoping it’s not the case.”

They met up with Thor at the swordsmith where he was carefully inspecting a selection of blades.

“What need do you have with a sword when you have your hammer to swing around?” Boe teased.

“These are gifts,” Thor explained. “I can’t very well go to Jotunheim for a week and not come back with souvenirs, can I?”

The boys entertained themselves with weapon comparison. Syn offered a few opinions before wandering off to the jewelry maker nearby. Souvenirs sounded like an excellent idea. She had just about made a decision between two necklaces when something tugged at her instincts and she lifted her head to glance around.

The crowd was parting and she saw Loki storming down the aisle between the booths, heading straight for her. She sighed a little and turned to face him, arms crossed over her chest.

“Are you completely and utterly insane?” he asked her when he reached her, just at the edge of yelling.

“Admittedly, I’ve never actually been _tested_. . .”

“ _Syn_.”

He really was entertaining when he was blustering. “Is this about Jana? Because if so, gossip around here travels even faster than I remember.”

“Do you remember what happened last time? She nearly killed you.”

The commotion had drawn the attention of Boe and Thor. They stopped a few feet away and she held up a hand to keep them there. Loki loomed over her, obviously trying to be as intimidating as possible, scarlet eyes flashing. Unfortunately it was far more arousing than frightening.

“You’re welcome to bet against me,” she said, fighting a smile. He opened his mouth to reply and she cut him off before he could. “She gave me her word as a hunter she wouldn’t cheat and I know she was telling the truth. You yourself told me she is not as she was. I’ve chosen to believe her challenge is a way of burying the hatchet.”

“Yes, in your soft, vulnerable throat.”

She fought the sudden urge to kiss him. He was leaning close enough she could do it. Lifting a hand, the tapped his nose instead. “Your concern is touching. But I’m a big girl and can handle myself.”

With a noise of frustration, he muttered something about women being impossible and whirled away, storming back through the crowd.  
 Boe and Thor closed the distance and flanked her, watching Loki’s progress. “Did you agree to the fight with his sister in order to rile him up?” Boe asked casually.

Syn couldn’t help but think of a lecture their mother had once given him and some of his friends explaining that dropping frogs down girl’s dresses was not acceptable courting behavior. She lost the fight with her grin. “Maybe a little.”

He leaned over and kissed the top of her head. “That’s my girl.”


	21. Chapter 21

“What if I just cancelled the whole festival?”

Not missing a beat, Mashira responded, “What if I stabbed you in the face?” without even looking up from her notes.

Loki sighed and rubbed a hand over his eyes. He hadn’t seen Syn since the market the day before. Well, that wasn’t entirely true, he has seen her at dinner, but she’d been seated at a different table and he hadn’t had the opportunity to speak with her. Which was just as well, as he’d probably have made an ass out of himself as he had in the market place.

Now he and Mashira were mere minutes from taking their seats at the festival games and he was still hoping to find some way of preventing Syn from fighting Jana.

“Jana’s not going to hurt her,” Mashira said. 

“You don’t know that. The last time -”

“Laufey is dead.” It was said bluntly, harshly. “The hold he had on her - on all of us - is over. She has no reason to hurt Syn and if she did she’s smart enough not to do it front of a crowd that includes three realm leaders that would happily kill her for the act. At least give her credit for not being suicidal.”

Loki’s mouth opened and closed with a snap. She was absolutely right. He was being. . . utterly irrational. These were not the actions of a king. Whatever his feelings for Syn or distrust for his sister, he needed to maintain a cool head. They had come too far for him to ruin the good will they’d earned from the other realm leaders.

With a sigh, he heaved himself up. “Let’s go. The sooner the games begin, the sooner they’ll be over.”  
 “That’s the spirit.”

They made their way to the royal box flanking the tournament yard. It had been a very wet summer and the ground was still muddy and rough. It was going to be a very messy games.

He and Mashira had been the last to arrive, it appeared. Loki took his chair and his sister sat at his right. Boe was on his left, with Thor on his other side. In front of them were the Dwarf and Vanir royals. The visiting entourages were in amongst the regular bleachers with Loki’s people. Seeing the dots of Aesir faces among the sea of Jotun blue made him smile despite his lingering worries.

The priests came out to say the prayers and ask Tanet and Lyra’s blessings. Then the first competitors came out.

Boe turned to Loki. “Perhaps you can help me, your majesty. I’m told it’s acceptable to wager on the proceedings here. But I can’t find anyone willing to bet against my sister.”

Loki felt himself grinning. “I’m afraid I can’t help you either then. I’m quite certain she’d come at me next if she heard I’d bet against her.”

“You know her even better than I thought.” The Alfan king studied him and for a moment Loki wondered what, exactly, Syn had told her brother about their affair. “So you should know better than to worry about her.”

Loki blew out a breath. “I’ve found you can’t always choose what you fret over.”

“Mmm, I suppose accidents do happen. But the more you push her the more likely she is to do something. Just to prove you wrong.”

“I wish I’d had your advice when we were younger,” Loki said before he could think better of it.

Boe chuckled. “I don’t know that I’d have been as helpful then as I might be now. We’ve all grown up.”

Thor leaned past the other ruler to whisper to Loki. “Boe has grown older. _Up_ might be a different story.” The Alfan swatted at him in irritation, causing Thor to rumble in laughter.

Ice broken, Loki enjoyed the next few hours far more than he’d expected. Between explaining the rules of the games and cheering for various contenders, he and the other men got on rather well. Mashira and the queen of Vanaheim struck up a conversation about something or other.

This. This was exactly what he’d hoped for when he’d planned this festival. His primary motives might not have been entirely pure, but these moments of easy camaraderie had definitely been part of his plans. Simple things like wagering on feats of strength and comparing cuts of dress built bridges as sure as treaties and alliances. 

His calm and easy mood dissipated when the last of the noble games finished and Syn and his sister stepped out on the field. For a moment it was like going back in time. The two of them in their armor and leather, weapons braced on their shoulders. For all he knew those were the same damn staves they’d fought with a thousand years ago.

Then they bowed to him and he realized Syn’s hair was braided in the style of his mother’s house.

His mother would have delighted had she been there, but tradition insisted she and the other wives stay in mourning for a year and a day, unable to even attend his coronation. They wouldn’t be permitted at any sort of celebration, from this festival to weddings or births. The only exception would be a funeral for another close relative. Maiza had gone to her family house, the little cabin he and Syn had once spent two pleasant nights. He wrote to her, and he knew Mashira did too, so he had no doubt she’d be getting a blow by blow description of the goings on here. But oh, how he wished she were sitting here to give him advice.

The braid had to mean something, didn’t it? Some sliver of hope that there was still a chance. That a thousand years wasn’t too long for a second chance.

Then the women straightened and turned to each other and he didn’t have time to be lost in his thoughts any more.

*

“Your boyfriend looks like he bit an unripe frost fruit.”

Syn grinned, twirling to strike out at Jana, their staves clacking hard. “ _Your brother_ has become a bit of a grump in his age.”

“Wait till they crown him, he’ll only get worse.”

They danced around for a while, matching each other blow for blow. Finally, Syn said, “It occurs to me it’s rather hard to draw blood with these things. Shall we just hammer away at one another till our arms fall off?”

Jana tilted her head thoughtfully. “First to three taps?”

Syn glanced over at Loki, watching the two of them on the edge of his seat, as if eager to call the fight over at the slightest excuse. “Oh, let’s make it five. Give him a few grey hairs.”

Her opponent laughed merrily and for a while they went at it in earnest, not saving breath to talk. Syn got the first strike, a blow to Jana’s left shin that she was careful to pull a bit. The Jotun danced at the sting a moment, but recovered quickly. The next two were hers, both hard enough to feel but not debilitating. It was then she became certain Jana meant her no harm at all.

“I feel I owe you an apology,” Jana said after Syn struck her third blow. “For the last time we did this.”

“The attempted stabbing, you mean?”

She ducked a swing and tried to sweep Syn’s feet out from under her. “My father was a very. . . persuasive man. It was easier, in my view, to go along with his schemes than to stand on my own.”

Syn paused to take a breath. She could see no lie or subterfuge on Jana’s face. She was long out of practice in reading Jotun non-verbal cues. But best she could tell the woman was sincere. And contrite. “No one should be held responsible for the decisions they make as a youth. As long as we move forward in good will then I consider old wounds forgotten.”

Jana nodded and offered a small, soft smile the likes of which Syn had never seen on her face before. Then she held out a hand. “Truce.”

A bit relieved at being done with the match - she was not as young as she used to be - Syn reached out to take her hand.

The earth beneath them shuddered just as their fingers touched. Syn frowned, stumbling a little, then looked up at Jana. “Earthquake?”

Jana was frowning as well and shook her head. “It didn’t feel right.” As she spoke, another rumble shook them. This time, Syn did lose he footing, taking a knee and pressing a hand to the ground.

A murmur swept through the crowd and she heard Mashira directing people to start filing out of the stands. Another, harder, quake rolled through and there was an awful ripping sound. A crack appeared in the ground, widening and spreading directly towards them. Jana caught her arm and rolled them both to the side, away from the growing fissure.

“This isn’t normal,” Jana said.

Before Syn could respond there was a low scraping noise and a hand appeared over the edge of the crack. A moment later a figure pulled itself out of it, followed by another and another. All of them red-skinned, in the distinctive black armor of Muspelheim.

“No,” Syn said, rolling to her knees. “That’s definitely not normal.” She opened her hands and sent her magic out and an instant later she was holding her bow, arrow already notched, aiming at the intruder’s head. The warrior lifted his sword with a roar and she let the arrow fly, taking him in the throat.

“I need a better weapon,” Jana muttered, climbing to her feet. “My spear, my halberd. Ice knives won’t last long here.”

Syn used another arrow to dispatch the Muspleian behind Jana. “Where’s your weapon? Be very specific.”

She closed her eyes and rattled off quickly, “My private quarters, leaning on the southern wall, next to my wardrobe.”

Jana’s quarters were in the royal rooms, near the other princesses. Syn flung her magic out as best she could and was pleasantly surprised when a wickedly sharp halberd appeared in her hand.

She tossed it to Jana, who caught it, eyes wide in surprise. “Alfan, you’re remarkably useful.”

“I do try.”

More cracks in the ground had appeared and they were going to be overrun soon, separated as they were from the rest of the crowd. Without discussion she and Jana stood back to back, weapons out. “Towards the bleachers?” Syn asked. “Or the preparation rooms?”

“The rooms,” Jana replied, slicing down two opponents. “We’ll be able to get to the castle proper from there.”

“Right. Here we go.”

*

Loki had never been in a battle. Not a real one, at any rate. He’d hunted, of course. And he’d been trained in fighting techniques from a young age, so when the Muspelian warriors flooded the field, he wasn’t entirely out of his depth in joining the fray.

He was rather grateful for the obviously more experienced Thor and Boe at his side, however.

The attack had set the crowd into chaos. He’d lost sight of Mashira, who had been trying to herd the people out of the bleachers when the first invaders rose from the earth. He trusted she was still working on evacuation and could handle herself. Some of the Jotuns he begun to fight back, hunters and warriors with ice blades flashing. But there were just as many untrained adults and children who would need to be protected and get to the safety of the capital halls.

“Do you see our sisters?” Boe asked. He’d conjured a sword from the air, the way Loki had seen Syn do with her arrows and was cutting down enemies efficiently.

“No,” he replied, throwing a handful of razor sharp ice shards at a black armored warrior. “They were at the apex of several cracks.”

“I’m concerned they might be overrun.” He looked over at the Asgardian king on his other side. “Thor, see if you can rally the other fighters. Organize them to turn this into a proper battle, sway it to our favor.” Thor nodded and bellowed something, pressing through the crowd. The Alfan king then turned back to Loki. “Shall we?”

This really wasn’t how he’d hoped to bond with Syn’s brother, but he’d take it. He nodded and threw another collection of ice knives out, making room for them to jump over the edge of the seats and into the wide expanse of mud that had been the games yard.

Loki focused on clearing the path and Boe guarded his back. Clearly, the Alfan had some experience in battle. He was steady and calm, never losing focus. Loki was sure he’d saved his life at least twice, though he thought he held his own admirably.

He had a hand up to dispatch the next Muspelian when an arrow came somewhere from the right, embedding itself in the warrior’s throat, downing him. Loki glanced over his shoulder at Boe. In unison they said, “That way,” and adjusted their path.

They found the women a moment later. Jana was on the ground, a vicious wound in one leg, her favorite halberd in her hands. Syn stood over her, to the point of straddling the other woman’s wounded leg, bow in her hands and staff strapped to her back. There were Muselpian bodies surrounding them.

Loki’s first instinct was to go to her and wrap her in his arms, but there were still enemies to deal with. Boe brushed past him to stand at Syn’s back and Loki flanked them both.

There was a noise, something like a horn being blown and the invaders began to fall back. Boe went after them a few steps, before it became clear he wouldn’t do much good chasing them. He turned back instead and caught Syn’s arm, turning her to face him so he could hug her. She wrapped her arms around his neck and he lifted her so her booted feet dangled off the ground.

Feeling a bit out of place, Loki crouched to check on Jana. “Are you all right?”

She nodded. “I swear, Loki, I had nothing to do with this.”

He felt a pang of sorrow that she felt she had to assure him of that. The thought had never even crossed his mind. He reached out and covered her shoulder with a hand. “I know you didn’t, Jana.” He drew her forward to press a kiss to the crown of her head. It was probably the first time he’d shown her affection since they were children. “It’s all right,” he told her. “How’s your leg? Can Syn-”

“She wouldn’t let me.” Syn crouched next to him. “Insisted I save my strength for others.”

Loki gave his sister what he hoped was a quelling look. “Let her fix you. Then we’ll head back to the palace and regroup.” She nodded, though she didn’t look happy about it. He watched the gold glow of Syn’s magic pool in her hands as she pressed them to Jana’s leg.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am actively working on chapter 23, so fingers crossed I'll get that up soon.
> 
> You all owe thanks to samantha-shakespeare for giving me a very polite poke to get working on this again.

Twenty minutes later Jana was in the infirmary and Loki was in the king’s parlor with Syn, her brother, and Thor. The other realm leaders had retired to their rooms and Mashira, after a pause to hug Loki and assure him she was fine, had gone to check on casualties and damage reports.

“This was clearly a declaration of war,” Thor was saying. “There’s no other was to interpret it.”

“Technically,” Syn said, not looking up from the paperwork Mashira had dug up for her before she left. “I think it was an act of conquest.”

Boe and Thor looked at her in surprise, but Loki followed her train of thought perfectly. “All the realm leaders in one place. Muspelheim was looking to kill us all in one swoop. Put the realms into chaos.”

“And set Surtur’s successor, Ymir, up to rule them,” Boe finished.

“More likely Surtur himself.” Syn set out some papers for them, a glance told Loki they were copies of correspondence between his sister and Ymir’s court. “The benefit of abdicating before your death is you have plenty of free time to plot.”

“Whoever the mastermind, I think we need to consider us all target.” Boe looked at Loki. “Obviously, it was done on your land, during your festival, so it’s your call. But I know all of us would like to be involved in the next steps.”

Loki made a real effort to not show the relief he felt on his face. To his father’s great shame, warfare was not his favorite pastime. Still, he was a Jotun and his people had been attacked. He wasn’t about to back down, but not doing it alone was very appealing. “I intended this week as the beginning of peace between the realms. For Ymir and Sutur to try to change that offends me. But if we have to start our alliances at a war table, so be it.” The men nodded, but he saw Syn smile and was reassured that he’d found the right answer. So he continued, “Obviously, we should cancel the masque tomorrow.”

“No,” Syn said, even as the other men began to agree. “You need to go forward with it.” They all turned to look at her. She didn’t appear fazed by their incredulous looks. “The people will be scared, not to mention the realm leaders and hangers on that aren’t in this meeting. Cancelling the masque makes this a big deal, big enough to disrupt your coronation plans. It lets Muspelheim win, at least in the people’s minds. If you continue on with the ball then you’re dismissing today’s attack. And you’re distracting the population from thinking about what might be going on behind the scenes.”

By the gods, did he love how her mind worked. “I don’t want to keep the other realm leaders completely in the dark. Which of you has the best relationship with the dwarves?” Syn and Boe pointed at Thor in unison. Loki turned to him. “Would you be able to talk to Hreidmar? See if he’d be willing to take a side in the conflict.” The Dwarves were notorious for their isolationist policies. Hopefully, since they’d been part of the attack, they could be convinced to join their alliance.

“I suppose that leaves me to talk to Dallr?” Boe said dryly.

Syn nudged his arm. “Just be your charming self.”

He gave her a narrowed-eyed look, then smiled. “That leaves you here to plan the war with Loki,” he told her brightly.

Her face gave nothing away, but she said calmly, “First, I think I’ll change out of my battle clothes and check in on the infirmary to see if I’m needed.” She looked at Loki, face still unreadable. “Can you get maps of Jotunheim and Muspelheim, if you have them?”

“I’ll ask Mashira for it when she returns.”

“Thank you.” She left without another word, followed by Thor and Boe, who both gave him worryingly knowing smiles.

It was probably very bad to be grateful for a war giving him the opportunity to spend time with Syn.

*

“Plan a war with Loki.” Syn had caught her brother on his way to see Dallr and had hauled his meddling ass into her parlor so she could yell at him properly. “Are you mad? How am I supposed to plan a war? You and Tig are the warriors, not me.”

“But you are a strategist,” Boe said, apparently completely unfazed at her ire. “This is going to be a war of diplomacy as well as battle. Our realms aligning with Jotunheim, trying to wrangle the Dwarves _and_ keep Vanaheim happy? That’s you all the way, Syn. I can stab a man and Tig can order a regiment. _You_ can run a war.”

Tig, their younger brother, was back on Alfheim running the army. Currently, he was overseeing a small battalion on the coast, dealing with some raiders that had been attacking merchants on a major trade route. She was fairly certain that, if they contacted him, he’d be happy to drop everything and come plan a war with Muspelheim.

But Boe did have a point. Planning a battle and navigating a politically fraught war were two different skill sets. And she did handle a great deal of this sort of thing. Negotiating treaties and seeing the big picture.

Not that she believed for a moment that his intentions were completely politically motivated. “And it has nothing to do with your childish matchmaking attempts?”

Boe grinned widely. “Whyever would you think that?”

She made a noise that was almost a growl. “We need to get you a wife,” she muttered.

Her brother hopped up and kissed her cheek. “Let’s get you married off first, hmm?” She stared at him as he sauntered out.

Matchmaking brothers. A war with Muspelheim. And Loki. And here she’d thought keeping Jana from killing her would be the most complicated thing she’d deal with today.

After a stop at the infirmary to confirm she wasn’t needed, she made her way back to the king’s parlor to start her strategizing with Loki.

He was waiting for her, alone. Papers and maps were spread out over the large table at one end of the room. He looked up when she entered a for a moment they just studied each other.

Finally, he smiled a little wryly. “This isn’t how I pictured us spending time together. If you’re not comfortable-”

She waved a hand to cut him off. “War or no war we are both realm leaders, hoping to be allies. Our history or personal feelings can’t come before the good of our peoples.”

An odd expression crossed his face but was gone before she could put name to it. Then he nodded and gestured to the maps. “Well. Mashira found us what maps we had, if you’d care to look.”

Crossing the room, she stood beside him to study the topographical maps of Muspelheim. “I’ve never seen realm crossing like that,” she commented. There were ways to get through the worlds other than the Bifrost Bridge, though they were unknown to most. It generally took at least a passing understanding of magic to breach them.

“I have,” Loki offered. She looked up at him in surprise. “There are places on Jotunheim where the boundaries between it and other realms are. . . thinner. I imagine it’s the same in the other, wilder realms. Someone with significant magic could burst through one of those places to another.”

“I had no idea.” She trailed her fingers along the line of a mountain range on the map. “Magic is rare in Muspelheim. Surtur didn’t have it. I wonder if Ymir does.” She looked up at Loki. “I’ve met him twice and it never really made sense why Surtur chose him to succeed him. He doesn’t have a particularly strong personality. Nor does he seem. . . together. As if he was somehow distant from the world around him. If he has magic - the kind of magic that can rip holes through realms. . .”

Loki looked grim. “A puppet?”

“A lesser partner at the very least. I think we need to work under the assumption that Surtur in the mind behind this.”

After a pause, Loki admitted, “I can’t tell from your tone if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.”

She smiled and chuckled a little. “A bit of both. Surtur was king through both our father’s reigns, so history will tell us some of his methods and tactics. However, he’s an experienced king and mastermind, with a puppet at the ready to take the blame. We’ll have to tread carefully not to play his games.”

His expression changed and he inclined his head. “I’m sorry I couldn’t contact you when your father passed.”

Old pain stirred in her chest and for a moment she focused on breathing around it. “Thank you,” she said when she could trust herself to speak again. “It took us all by surprise.”

“How is your mother?”

“Well. Retired to a family estate in the country.” She looked up at him and smiled through the lingering grief. “Will I get a chance to see yours this week?”

His smile was rueful. “I’m afraid not. Tradition requires her to stay sequestered for a year and a day. I will tell her you asked after her.” He lifted a hand almost hesitantly and tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear. “You would, of course, be welcome to come back and visit after her confinement is over.”

Heat suffused her skin and she fought the urge to step closer, to lean into him. She took a shaky breath. “Perhaps we should plan our war before we plan future vacations.”

He chuckled and dropped his hand. “You know, I’ve never planned a war before.”

“Neither have I,” she admitted.

“Do you think we’ll muck it up completely?”

“Hopefully not.” She looked up at him and, because she sometimes felt compelled to tell the truth, even when she might prefer to hide, she added, “I think together we can accomplish great things.”

Loki’s scarlet eyes lit up and he smiled properly. “So do I.”

*

Loki had to leave Syn for a while to meet with some concerned nobles and advisors. He did his best to sound calm and reassuring and completely in control of the situation. It must have worked, more or less, because they all left happy. Mashira joined him for the last couple and when it was over he took the opportunity to check in with her.

“You sure you’ll all right?” he asked, despite the grumpy look she was giving him. “No injuries, no trauma?”

She sighed. “I’m really, really, totally, completely fine. It was a little panicked and scary in the midst of it. But I had a job to do and I did it.”

“Yes, you did.” He drew her close to kiss her forehead. “Thank you.”

“How are you?” she asked, studying his face. “We appear to now be at war.”

“So it seems.” He let out a breath and allowed himself to slump a little. With her, at least, he didn’t have to pretend. “I am overwhelmed. But I have help, allies. The other realm leaders are already working in concert.”

“And you have Syn.” Her tone was ever so slightly needling and he knew she was as fine as she insisted she was.

It took real effort to keep from sounding too defensive. “She’s a useful ally.”

“Of course she is.”

“And a war table is no place to conduct a courtship.”

“But courtship is on the table?” Mashira had the posture of a pouncing animal when she spoke.

He sighed. “I have never made my feelings for her a secret. Not to you at any rate. But this is not the time.”

Her brow arched. “And when the war is over?”

“I can’t plan that far ahead.”

Mashira laughed brightly. “Loki. We’re Laufey’s children. We live five steps ahead.”

He couldn’t help but smile. “And we also keep those plans secret so that no one knows when we fuck it up entirely.”

Shaking her head, his sister clapped him on the arm. “This time, brother dear, fucking up is not an option.”


	23. Chapter 23

Loki had been rather concerned that the attack and the looming war and endless strategy meetings would take the fun out of the ball, even if it was a good idea to go forward with it. But as he stepped into the elaborately decorated ballroom he had to smile. The room was full of happy, animated chatter. He saw smiling faces and people were already starting to dance. Boe and Thor were at one side, deep in conversation, but paused long enough to raise their glasses to him. He nodded in return and began to make his rounds.

He was dressed as Tanet, as was tradition at this point. Mashira had asked him multiple times to do something new, especially for this ball, with the other realm leaders in attendance. But Tanet had guided him well for this long. To turn him aside now, when he was just coming into power, would almost certainly be seen as insulting the god. He’d tweaked his costume over the years, tuning into which aspect of the god that most spoke with him. And thanks to his old magic sessions with Syn he was able to conjure a coin to flip. Somehow, having a coin that disappeared and reappeared really cinched the ‘trickster’ aspect.

The other realm leaders had made attempts at costumes, with varying degrees of success. The Vanir delegation were in fancy dress and ornate domino masks, which he guessed were what one wore to a masked ball on Vanaheim. The Dwarves were in armor and helms that covered enough of their faces to count as masks. Loki had almost made a bet with Mashira - using actual money - that they wouldn’t dress up at all. So the warrior costumes were rather impressive.

Boe and Thor had come the closest to Jotun style costuming, likely because their choices would have been influenced by Syn. Thor had on dark, intricately engraved armor and had dyed his hair and beard a ruddy red. Boe’s costume was more subtle, a dark green tunic and brown hose. He had a gold and green mask and a long, carved wooden bow slung over his arm. Loki made a mental note to ask Syn who they were dressed as.

Speaking of Syn, she was not with her brother and ally. A quick scan of the crowd didn’t immediately reveal her presence, either. Admittedly, there were far more pale skinned party goers than usual, but he was pretty confident he’d be able to recognize her, even in a room as full as this.

Jana sidled up to his side, draped in multiple layers of sheer scarves and strategically placed jewels. He was somewhat relieved to see she was no worse for the wear after her injury. “Hello, Brother,” she said with a grin. “Looking for your lady?”

“She’s not my lady,” he said automatically. “But she is an honored guest.”

Her grin changed to something more reminiscent of Mashira and she pointed behind him. “Well, yours or not, you’re missing her grand entrance.”

Despite the fact he knew she would tease him for it, he immediately turned to look at the main entrance.

Syn stood there, dressed as Lyra, as she had the first time she’d been at the harvest masque. That time she had been Lyra the death bringer, in dark colors, carrying a sickle. Tonight she was Lyra, the source of life.

Her dress was Jotun styled, a gold bustier and white and gold skirt with a bare midriff between. Her arms were entwined with gold jewelry styled to look like vines. A chain circled her bare waist, with a clasp that was a snake eating its tail. Her hair was braided in his mother’s style, with ribbons and flowers twisted into it.

He didn’t think the room actually hushed as she glided into the crowd. It was probably just the roar of blood in his ears. But he swore all the warriors of Muspelheim could be at the door and he’d have been completely oblivious.

She reached him, smiling that twisted little smile she had that always made him think she knew something he didn’t. “Loki,” she said.

“Your Majesty,” he replied, proud of how steady his voice was.

“Dance with me.” It was more order than question, which he certainly deserved. But he grinned and offered her his arm.

It was a statement, of a sort, though surely not a surprise to anyone in the room. Her brother and Thor had amused looks on their faces, mirroring his sister’s expressions. He looked only at Syn, though, as he wrapped a hand around her hip and took her hand as he spun her around the floor.

“You look beautiful,” he told her softly.

“Thank you. The expression on your face when you saw me made the several hours my hair took entirely worth it.”

He laughed, squeezing her hand. “It absolutely was.” Almost despite himself, he asked softly, “What are we doing, Syn?”

“We’re dancing,” she said sweetly. “After that I imagine we’ll sip some punch and be teased by our various siblings.”

“And then?”

“We have a war to plan.”

With a sigh, he bent closer and touched his forehead to hers. “Syn.”

“I know,” she said softly. “But please, for now, just enjoy the dance.”

There were a hundred things he wanted to say. To try to convince her that this could be their new beginning. But that was not a conversation to be had with an audience in the middle of a ball. So he tugged her a little closer to his chest and did as she asked.

*

When the dance was done, Loki didn’t let her slip away, tucking her arm through his and taking her with him as he did a tour of the room. They spoke to the other realm leaders, some at great length. The Dwarves wanted to talk about the war, but she was able to distract them with questions about their armor and helms. One of the female members of the entourage turned out to be the head of their goldsmith guild and admired her belt fastening. They spent some time talking about gold work and what some of the craftsmen in her world were able to do with magic. Dwarven metal work was often imbued with magic, but they rarely used it to physically shape the materials. Gademine suggested, almost hesitantly, some sort of exchange program after everyone was back to their own realms. Given the Dwarves history of isolationism, Syn damn near fainted at even the suggestion.

“Attitudes are changing all over,” Loki said when she told him about it. They’d stopped at the buffet to refuel before continuing their circuit.

“Times change,” she agreed. “I’m glad others are changing with them.” It occurred to her that she was very much filling the duties of his queen, what with the meet and greet. Even working together on war strategy wasn’t out of character for a king’s wife. She was certain it was intentional. Loki might not know a regiment from recruitment, but he was a master strategist in his own right. Just because he wasn’t, technically, king yet, didn’t mean he could manipulate a political event to his favor.

His voice broke into her thoughts. “Before we go over and let the teasing commence, what are your brother and Thor dressed as?”

“Oh.” She glanced over at them, standing a few yards away, chatting with Mashira and a few of the higher Jotun nobles. “Thor is his grandfather, Bor, since he has no imagination at all. My brother is a hero from some of our legends. Kier the Bandit. You’d like him, he’s a trickster, like Tanet. Tells riddles and tricks nobles out of coin, then spreads it to others that need it more. Boe always loved the stories, he was rather excited to dress up as him.”

Loki smiled. “I’m glad they got into the spirt of it, at least.” He looked down at her, gaze blatantly sweeping the curves of her body. “As did you, of course.”

“Lyra continues to speak to me,” she admitted. “It’s nice to be here again, where there are signs of her worship. Instead of being the only one in the realm who knows who the heck she is.”

He chuckled and took one last, long drink from his wine glass. “Once more into the fray?” he asked her.

Now was the time to call him on his schemes. To remind him that while she was _a_ queen she was not _his_ queen and shouldn’t be greeting his guests on his arm as if she were. But that would mean leaving his side and that was growing more and more unappealing. If he was trying to prove some sort of point to her, she could at least give him the opportunity to do so.

So she tucked her arm back into his and nodded. “Onward.”

There was a marked difference in the attitudes of the nobles towards her, compared to her time as ambassador or even a few days ago when the delegations had first arrived. There was a note of respect, perhaps even admiration to many of them. She could have chalked it up to just being on Loki’s arm. It would have irritated her, but she’d have given them credit for trying. But several of them made a point to speak to her directly and ask rather pertinent and insightful questions on policy and the conflict with Muspelheim. She was still rather determined not to speak of the war at a social event. But she answered them as best she could before steering the conversation another way. It led her to believe that, while being on Loki’s arm was the reason they were talking to her, her actions during the battle and her clear place at the war table were the reasons she was respected.

Of course, respect rather went out the window when they reached Thor and Boe. They were both a bit into their cups, she suspected, and were more than happy to tease her about her place as the lady of the house, as well as feign horror at her bare stomach.

“Two great kings and they can’t handle their wine,” she said, shaking her head solemnly.

Thor laughed, his loud booming laugh that had half the room turning to look at him. “If nothing else,” he said. “We must open trade agreements with Jotunheim to get more of this.”

“But what could you possible trade in return that’s so fine?” Loki asked with a grin.

Boe grinned the grin that had so often gotten him in trouble as a child, and gestured to Syn. “Women, clearly.”

Loki and Thor both seemed to pause and glanced at Syn, as if not entirely sure if he’d crossed a line.

Any other man in the realms she’d have slapped for that. But this was her brother and she knew full well he loved and respected her. Drink made him stupid and she probably should have reminded him of the fact earlier. With Thor drinking as well, she wasn’t surprised it brought out the worst in him.

Even now she could see the creeping horror come over his face as he realized what he’d just said. “How many cases of wine do you think I’m worth, brother dear?” she asked, raising a warning brow.

“I’m fairly certain there’s no way to answer that question without insulting you further.”

She grinned. “Well played, brother. Perhaps some water to drink for the remainder of the evening? Before you cause an inter-realm incident instead of just annoying your sister.”

He sketched a little bow. “Your council is prudent and well timed, as always, my queen.”

Shaking her head, she let Loki draw her away to greet the Vanir king and queen. “I see where you learned your diplomacy, growing up with him,” he said mildly.

“Boe is a good king and generally a progressive man. But he is still my older brother and I believe, occasionally, forgets that his teasing can go to far. His intent isn’t malicious.”

“Our sibling relationships are slightly different.”

She laughed at his dry tone. “Slightly.”

Dallr and his wife were both stiff, staid people, but masters at the art of polite small talk. Syn actually found it an enjoyable conversation. The relationship between Alfeim and Vanheim was very friendly and this was far from the first political party she’d been to with them. Dallr was a mathematician by hobby and his wife collected books, and while advanced math wasn’t her strong suit, Syn could discuss books all day and night.

It left poor Loki listening to Dallr’s latest equation for far too long, but she made plans to show Queen Adia the Jotun library and carefully extracted them from the other couple.

“I think I learned something,” Loki commented. “But I don’t think I’ll remember it by the time I leave the ball.”

She laughed and squeezed his arm. “If you want to open your borders you must take the boring with the exciting.”

He smiled and looked down at her. “I suppose when you put it that way, it’s worth it.”

It was then she realized he’d managed to guide her to the back door of the ballroom. “Where are you taking me?” she asked, narrowing her eyes at him.

“We’ve done our full circuit of the room. I thought, perhaps, you might enjoy a break from the crowd.”

The faux innocence in his tone made her even more suspicious than she had been. But she let him lead her out of the room and down some back hallways she didn’t immediately recognize, until she found herself in a small temple, lined with the gods’ statues.

“Feeling the urge to pray?” she teased him, stepping away from his side to look at the Lyra shrine.

“Seeking peace,” Loki replied. “This is the private shrine, for the royal family.”

Explained why she hadn’t seen it before. When she was last here it would have been Laufey’s shrine, not Loki’s. She noticed Tanet’s statue had a fresh offering of pastries and wine. “Does Tanet have a sweet tooth?”

He grinned. “The one I pray to does.”

Lyra’s statue had no offering, but the statue was clean of just and obviously well cared for. The detail in her dress and face were remarkable. Syn reached up and tugged some of the flowers out of her hair, placing them at Lyra’s feet. She had no particular prayer to give, just a general desire for things to work out. 

When she turned back she found Loki smiling fondly at her and she felt oddly shy. He slowly made his way around the room until he stood in front of her. Tipping her head back, she watching him carefully, expecting something glib, or perhaps even flirty. Instead, he smiled crookedly, bent and kissed her.

Shock froze her and for a moment time seemed to unspool. For the space of a few breaths she was young and nervous again, overwhelmed by her feelings for her complicated, brash, charming, devilish Jotun. Back then, she’d had such hope for their future. Such optimism. Now she was older, wiser, with a mountain of responsibilities she couldn’t put aside so easily.

Despite all of that, she lifted her arms and curled them around his shoulders, kissing him back. He sighed, sounding relieved, and wrapped his hands around her waist, skin rough and cool where it touched hers. He straightened slightly, lifting her up against him. It was all very familiar and still so very new. He was firmer and stronger than he had been, all of he ganglyness of youth gone. She wondered idly if she felt different to him, as well.

The kiss got away from her a bit, growing deep and intense. Probably to an inappropriate degree given they were in a church. She half expected him to fit her up against the wall when he finally lifted his head, both of them breathing hard.

Syn stared up at him, feeling the world crash down into her. They couldn’t be doing this, couldn’t start this up again. Surely he had to know that.

His red eyes darted back and forth, drinking in her features. Then he stroked a thumb across her cheek bone and said, “Marry me.”

Rarely was Syn actually speechless. She opened and closed her mouth and made some sort of squeaking noise, but no actual words came out.

Loki grinned and dropped a light, chaste kiss on her mouth. “Don’t answer now. It’s tradition to ask three times.”

She coughed. “Three times?”

He nodded solemnly. “It’s bad luck if you answer me before the third time.”

“Oh.” Very slowly, her brain seemed to be functioning again. “We wouldn’t want that.”

“No. Not at all.” He drew her hand into the crook of his elbow and started to lead her out of the temple. “So have plenty of time to think of what an excellent idea it is.”

She was going to let him get away with being smug, just this once.


	24. Chapter 24

Everyone slept in the next morning, which Loki considered the best sign of a successful party there could be. Even he lingered over his breakfast and the stack of reports Mashira brought him after he woke up. She eventually came to the doorway and tapped her for pointedly until her retired to his room to get dressed and obediently follow her to the War Room.

In truth, he was in a remarkably good mood. It probably wasn’t healthy to think of his conversations with Syn as small competitions. But he definitely felt he’d won some sort of important battle last night. She had danced with him, walked the room with him, and kissed him as enthusiastically as he had her. And, most importantly, when he’d blurted out one of the least romantic proposals in history, she hadn’t said no.

Being happy about “not no” was probably a technical victory only, but he’d take it.

She was waiting for him when he reached the parlor now designated as the War Room, examining several maps spread out on the table. She was back in more classically Alfan clothes, conservatively cut and covering, though less elaborately embroidered. He missed the glimpses of soft skin from the night before, but this was the Syn that lived in his mind’s eye and he felt an odd pang of affectionate nostalgia.

Looking up, she gave him an exasperated look. “Finally, he wakes.”

“Perfection like this takes time,” he informed her.

The exasperation melted into a smile, even as she shook her head. “I’ve been studying maps. I have some ideas, if you’re ready to join me.”

He joined her at the table, looking at the papers spread in front of them. “I’m all ears.”

“As best I can tell, these are the points in the various realms that link to Muspelheim.” She pointed to spots on the Alfheim map, the Jotunheim map, the Asgard map, and the Svartalheim map. “I had Thor take a look and the spots in Asgard are in fairly out of the way, as are the ones in Alfheim. The Jotunheim spots are closer to the capital, and one is deep underground. I was waiting for you, but I suggest talking to Hriedmar and sending soldiers to all of these spots to check for invasion forces.”

He studied the indicated areas. “I’ll take it one further, I think we offer to send Jotun soldiers as back up to the local armies.”

Syn looked at him and smiled. “I believe Alfheim will be able to offer some support as well.”

He returned the smile. Thor would almost certainly make a similar offer - Asgardians loved a good battle. And if they were loud enough, Dallr might toss some in as well, just to be polite.

The Dwarves, as always, were a wild card. But Hreimdar was showing signs of opening up borders and might see this as the good will gesture it was. Nothing bonded cultures like fighting beside one another.

They called the other leaders to the War Room and went over Syn’s concerns and their plan. As suspected, all of them offered cross-realm help, even Hreimdar. He and Dallr couldn’t pledge as many as the rest of them, but it was the offer that was important, not the numbers.

The logistics were complicated and required several messengers being sent out and the cooperation of Heimdal. Mashira pulled Loki away at one point to go over details of the upcoming coronation. Like the masque, everyone on his staff had agreed the coronation needed to go forward. He rather wished they could just get on with it, but when he’d suggested it Mashira had given him that look she got when she kind of wanted to kill him but couldn’t, so he hadn’t pushed the idea.

When he got back to the War Room, only Syn was left, sitting on top of the large stone table, surrounded by her maps and pages of notes and soldier counts. “You missed all the excitement,” she told him without looking up.

“By excitement do you mean complicated negotiations and diplomacy?” he asked, standing next to the table and picking up one of the pages of notes.

“More or less. Though it turns out having a math savant in the room when dealing with large numbers of soldiers is actually a boon.” She looked over to see what he was inspecting and apparently decided he was allowed to look at it. “Coronation still on track?”

“Yes. Day after tomorrow I will officially be the king of Jotunheim.”

She smiled. “I remember my coronation. The advisors were all flummoxed that Boe wanted to share power. No one had ever done that before. Even married kings and queens didn’t share power equally. A dual coronation was unheard of. Somehow, we managed to make it work.”

“You make a good team,” he told her. When he’d been in the room earlier he’d noticed she and Boe worked like two halves of a whole. They even finished each other’s sentences. When they were deeply into something they didn’t even need full sentences.

“We are.” For a moment she looked sad, then seemed to shook it off and looked back at him. “Messages have been sent, regiments are being formed. By mid-night there’ll be on their way to all of the hot spots. We should have recon on most of them within the next few hours.”

He nodded. “Are you hungry? There’s no formal supper tonight, but perhaps you’d join me for a private meal?”

She looked skeptical a moment, then glanced around herself, as if calculating how much work there was to be done. Then she nodded and carefully unfolded her legs to climb off the table. “Food would probably make the rest of the evening go by quicker.”

“That’s the spirit.” He offered her his arm and she took it without hesitation. He was glad that it now felt natural to have her walk at his side. Those they passed in the hallway didn’t even give it a second glance.

Dinner was served in his private parlor. Syn gave him a knowing glance when she saw it was all set up. “Confident you were going to convince me to attend,” she commented, taking the seat he offered.

“Had you turned me down I would have needed to drown my disappointment in food.”

She laughed, shaking her head. “I’m never certain if you’re actually charming or if my standards are just far too low.”

“Either way, you find me charming, which is all I really care about.”

Shaking her head again, she reached out and served him from a few of the dishes, before taking some for herself.

“You don’t have to do that,” he protested, though he was a bit touched she was adhering to the Jotun tradition.

She shrugged and heaped another helping of fruit onto her plate. “I tease you mercilessly, I can show you a modicum of respect now and again.”

“In private with no witnesses?”

With a wink, she assured him, “Best place to do it.”

Conversation paused while he poured wine and they dug into their food. It felt like years since his calm breakfast in this same room. For a moment, he let himself daydream about this being the norm. Both of them spending the day busy with matters of state, then coming together in the evening to compare notes over supper. It was the sort of partnership he wanted. The way he wanted to run his realm.

“Are we going to talk about what happened last night?” Syn asked eventually, sipping her wine.

He grinned crookedly. “You still can’t answer.”

Her brows lifted. “So you were serious?”

“I was entirely serious.” He was a little offended she’d thought he wasn’t. “I’ll be serious the next two times I ask, too.”

“And after the third I must answer?”

“I’d appreciate you not leaving me in suspense.”

She didn’t respond immediately, nibbling her food. “And if the answer is no?”

His chest tightened at the thought, but he managed to say, “That will be that.”

Meeting his gaze, she said, “And if I say yes?”

He grinned. “We get to rewrite how the game is played. Much like you and your brother and your dual coronation.”

She tilted her head, looking thoughtful. “I do have a history of changing the rules, don’t I?”

That was promising. He was going to take that as encouraging. “One of the many reasons you’re such a good queen.”

*

Now was not a good time to be distracted.

Syn was generally very good at compartmentalizing. A queen could not let her personal problems or concerns effect her decision. She had recon to go over, battles to monitor, realm-rulers to corral. She couldn’t be distracted by a few heady kisses and a very surprising proposal.

Damn Loki and damn Sutur and damn herself, while she was at it.

Reports had trickled in all night. All but one of their regiments had met Muspelheim forces at the cross-over points. None of the enemy units had been expecting resistance so early and that had been to their advantage. Two spots in Vanaheim and one in Asgard had already been secured and Syn expected more good news as the day went on.

For now, she was hiding in her room. Had anyone asked her she would not have admitted that’s what she was doing. But she felt the need to have a little space right now and not leaving her chambers seemed the best way to go about that.

Her brother, of course, didn’t respect her sudden desire for isolation. Not even a little.

“The market is up and running again,” he told her immediately after invading her solitude.

“That’s nice,” she said, slowly turning the page of her book.

“Come browse with me.”

“You can pester the glass blower all by yourself, dear.”

He huffed, a sound she’d heard from him since they were very small. “It’s better with company.”

She sighed heavily. “We’ve got to get you a wife, brother.”

“I’ll see you married first.” Something must have shown on her face because he stopped whatever he’d been about to say and tilted his head. “What?”

“Loki. . . may have proposed to me.”

Boe stared at her a moment. Then he crossed the room, sank into the empty spot on the end of her couch, and looked at her expectantly.

With another heavy sigh she explained, “Apparently in Jotun culture it’s traditional to propose three times before receiving an answer. He’s proposed once and told me to think about it.”

“When is he going to ask you again?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t believe there’s a time limit.”

He spread his hands. “Well, what are you going to say?

Chewing her lip, she admitted, “I don’t know.”

“Syn!” His level of exasperated horror was damn near hilarious. “You’ve been in love with this man half your life, how can you not know your answer?”

“It’s not as simple as that,” she protested, though maybe the fact he seemed to think the answer was obvious meant that it was simple and she was the one making it complicated. “I’d have to leave Alfheim - leave you. And I had no idea if the Jotun people would accept me. Or any children we had.”

“The people here have been very welcoming,” Boe pointed out gently. “Thor and I get the impression that everyone feels this opening of borders is long overdue. And having you, of all people, on the throne will only make that easier. You’re likable, you respect the culture and religion and you have a history with the realm.”

She gave him a wry smile. “Likable, brother? You’ll make me blush.”

He shook his head. “Even that stretch of the truth made my head ache.” She laughed and he reached out to tuck a lock of her hair behind her ear. “I will miss you, if you came here permanently. But I would manage without you. And going to another realm leader for advice is accepted and expected.” He curled his hand around one of hers. “I knew one day I would lose you to a husband. I would prefer it be one you love. One of us should.”

Turning her hand over, she squeezed his. She had never doubted her bother loved her dearly. And she knew, obviously, that he meant every word of what he’d just said. He had just given her his blessing to abandon him to his rule. They had always been a team and leaving him to pursue her own joy seemed selfish, deep inside. She hadn’t really understood how much that worry was gnawing at her until he’d taken it from her.

It gave her the strength to ask something she’d wondered a very long time. “Brother,” she said softly. “Do we need to get you a husband?”

For a moment, he looked stricken. Then his shoulders rounded, as if a weight had been lifted off of them. “How long have you known?” he asked quietly.

“I’ve suspected for years now. I don’t know that I was certain until just now.” She gave his hand a little shake. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

He shook his head. “I tried to tell Father once but he changed the subject with such vehemence I knew it was pointless to pursue it. It seemed easier to keep it a secret. Especially after we chose joint rule. You could provide the heirs and the pressure would be off of me.”

It really did explain a lot of things. His utter reluctance to ever even entertain a courtship. The moments of brief melancholy he had, sometimes for no discernible reason. “And now you’re encouraging me to marry a Jotun and leave?”

“I’ve spent far too long pretending to be someone I’m not. Not allowing myself to love someone. You found someone, and your feelings for him survived a thousand years. I refuse to let you give that up. I meant what I said. One of us should be happy.”

She studied his face a moment. “You should be happy, too, Boe. Stop pretending.”

“I can’t -“

“You can. You’re the king. If you can’t be who you are, who can?” He looked down, but she could see he was thinking it over. Pressing her advantage, she leaned down to catch his eye. “Be happy. If they can accept their queen loving a Jotun they’ll accept their king loving a man.”

He laughed and untangled their hands to hug her, hauling her close. “What about the heir?”

“I suppose Tig will finally have to make himself useful.”

Boe laughed again and pressed his face into her hair. For an awful moment she thought he might be crying, but she stayed still, holding onto him. “Thank you, sister,” he whispered finally.

“Anytime,” she told him. “Always.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man, I've been waiting for that Syn/Boe scene for SO LONG.


	25. Chapter 25

Loki began the day of his coronation in a remarkably good mood. Their offensive moves against the Muspelheim forces had all gone well. They were still waiting on the last two groups, but given the success of the rest of them, even Syn seemed to think it was all right to be optimistic.

The other realm leaders had been eager to pat themselves, and him and Syn, on the back. He would not have predicted this outcome, when he’d first thought to invite the realm leaders to the coronation. His hope had been only to make it the first steps in healing wounds and forging ties. Thanks to the attack from Muspelheim it seemed to have become something much more. Time would tell if it grew into the kind of cross-realm bonds the rest of them shared. But it was a start, and a stronger start than he’d thought to have.

If Sutur had hoped to fracture the realms to make them easier to conquer he’d sorely miscalculated.

Mashira had wanted to plan the coronation for the end of the day. Loki had been fairly certain he’d come out of his skin if he had to wait the whole day for it, so they’d settled on mid-morning. She’d come to check on him about an hour ago, then left him be to get ready on his own.

His coronation outfit had been carefully chosen and designed. Laufey had been crowned in pants and an open vest out on the tundra, or so the legends went. Loki was pretty sure that was just another sign that Laufey had been kind of an idiot. Even before he’d decided to invite all the other realm leaders he’d known there was no way he was going bare chested on the surface. Once the others were involved it was clear he’d need to dress at least somewhat conservatively. None of the other realms were as comfortable with bare skin as the Jotuns were.

He’d settled on loose pants and a tunic with a heavy robe for the ceremony itself. Everything had been intricately embroidered and adorned. Several generations of his family tree twined across the back of the robe. Knot work resembling the braids of both his mother and father’s families trailed the hem and cuffs.

Tracing his finger over the gold thread, he thought of his mother and dearly wished she could be there to see this. She would get a complete report, of course, and see the recordings. But she had always been such a calm, grounding force in his life. It would be nice if she could be here to see him crowned. And perhaps hold his hand a bit beforehand.

A light tap came from the door and he called for them to come in, assuming it was Mashira with more problems. Instead, Syn slipped into the room.

Relief flooded him. “Ah, a friendly face.”

She smiled, closing the door behind her. “I remember the case of nerves I had before my coronation. Thought I’d come check to make sure you hadn’t climbed out the window to escape.”

He laughed. “Speaking from experience?”

“I sorely considered it,” she admitted. Crossing to him, she fidgeted his robe a bit straighter and studied his braids carefully. “You look good,” she finally declared.

His shoulders relaxed noticeably. “Do I?”

She nodded firmly. “You look ready. Here-“ She reached into the pouch at her hip and drew out a little pin in the shape of a multi pointed star. Reaching up, she fastened it to his robe. “For luck.”

“What is it?” he asked, craning his neck to peer down at it.

“It’s the Alfan royal sigil,” she told him. “I wore it for my coronation and nothing went wrong. No tripping, didn’t flub my lines. Hopefully it will bring you similar luck.”

He got the sense there were things she wasn’t saying. They seemed to hang in the air between them. He imagined the queen didn’t exactly hand out her personal sigils to everyone. Certainly not for them to wear publicly at an event at important as a coronation.

She met his gaze and what he saw in her eyes all but confirmed his suspicions.

“Marry me,” he said softly, curling his hand around hers.

Smiling, she squeezed his hand gently. “That’s two.”

“It is. Only one more to go.” It was half a promise and half a warning. But that third question, he’d need an answer.

She nodded. “I’ll look forward to it.”

The coronation went off without a hitch. So perfectly even Mashira couldn’t find complaint. He remembered all of his lines, devoted himself to Tanet and all the gods. Promised to rule Jotunheim with strength and wisdom. The priests said their chants, the nobles pledged their fealty. His sisters all gave him a symbolic gift - even Jana. Her gift was, of course, a sword. But she gave it to him with a smile and a hug, so he was still touched. The people from the other realms watched with curious fascination and clapped when appropriate.

At the end of it all, he didn’t feel any different. There was no clap of thunder or ethereal chanting indicating the gods’ approval. He felt no more a king at the end of the ceremony than he did when he’d gone to bed the night before. But it was done and the people had seen it done and that was important.

He walked down the line, shaking hands and smiling at the guests who had lined up. He came across Syn’s brother, who gave the sigil pin a rather intense look and held his hand a little firmer than expected.

Loki was clearly going to need to ask her the significance of that pin to make sure they weren’t already married.

She wasn’t in the line of well-wishers, but he didn’t let that concern him. It was a big crowd and they would have plenty of time together later, with more privacy.

However, she was still nowhere to be seen when he arrived at the coronation luncheon. Mashira had promised she would be seated at his table, but there was a glaringly open space.

Now a little concerned, he looked over at Mashira and nodded to the empty seat and raised his bows questioningly. She nodded and whispered in Jana’s ear, who promptly stood and slipped out the back door.

That was the best he was going to get for now, so he tried to focus on his duties. He gave a speech thanking everyone for coming. He called out Jana and her hunters for the food and hoped it got back to her. He profusely thanked Mashira for all the work she’d done planning. And he acknowledged the visiting realm leaders and his hope for their continued friendship.

Then finally, he gestured for the food to be served and could sit and breathe. Jana hadn’t returned yet, but getting up to go hunt Syn down himself would almost certainly draw attention. So he grit his teeth and forced himself to eat.

When the meal was almost over he noticed a messenger whispering something to Boe and Thor. A moment later Jana appeared at his side. “Syn’s fine," she told him. But you should come with me.”

Curiosity and concern piqued, he quietly stood, inclined his head to his immediate neighbors, and followed her out of the room.

Syn was waiting for him in the War Room, dressed to the nines, hair braided traditionally. She barely glanced up when he entered. “I’m sorry I missed dinner. I was there for the actual ceremony.”

“It’s fine,” he said immediately, joining her at the table. And, to his surprise, it was. She’d been there for the important part and wouldn’t have left had something vital not happened. “Fill me in.”

“A messenger returned from the last Jotunheim regiment we hadn’t heard from. Ymir seeks parley.”

He stared at her, silent long enough she looked up at him. When she saw his face she smiled wryly. “I know.”

“Ymir, not Sutur?” he asked. The distinction was very important.

“That’s what the message said. It was very specific. He asked to meet here,” she added, tapping a spot on the Jotunheim map.

Loki’s brow arched. “He asked for us?”

“Well, he asked for the leaders of the ‘resistance forces’ which I’m pretty sure is us.”

Resistance forces. Interesting choice of words. “You think Sutur is behind it?”

“That’s what I’ve been standing here trying to determine. It’s mostly a circular argument. If it’s Ymir working alone it could be an olive branch or an attempt at direct attack. If it’s Sutur then it could be a trap or him offering Ymir up as a scapegoat. In the end, I don’t know if it matters. Trap or peace, we need to go.”

He nodded. Not going would show cowardice and weakness. Sending anyone else would be an insult at best or a death sentence at worst. “Shall we skip the part where we try to convince each other not to go?”

“That would be best,” she told him solemnly.

He imagined his life would be full of such agreements. She was never going to be a queen to stay home and let others take a risk. And, if he was honest with himself, he would much rather have her at his side than anywhere else. If this was a trap, he was far more likely to survive it with her at his side than anyone else.

“When are we expected?”

“Tomorrow. Though now that I have your approval we should send a message back agreeing to go.”

“So we have time to celebrate my coronation?” he asked hopefully, holding a hand out to her.

She glanced at his hand and then smiled, reaching out to curl her fingers around his. “Absolutely.”

*

Mashira and Loki’s other sisters had managed to move the crowd from the dining hall into the ballroom while they were talking. Which meant that Syn was at his side when he made his grand entrance into the ball. At this point, she didn’t think anyone was surprised or concerned about the fact she was serving as his de facto queen.

That should bother her. If anyone else in the realms, including her brother, had manipulated her that way Loki seemed capable of she’d have their head. But if she was being honest with herself - and she had to be, didn’t she? - it hadn’t really been manipulation. She was born into the royal life as much as he had. She had political machinations in her blood. Every time she took his hand or walked at his side, she knew exactly what she was doing.

She liked to think of it as a dress rehearsal. A trial run. Perhaps Loki’s motives were different. Perhaps he thought the more he placed her in the position of his queen the harder it would be for her to extricate herself from it. She was fairly confident that once this festival was over she could go home to Alfheim she could downplay her part in his court and return to business as usual. The Dwarves wouldn’t care about their sexual politics. Dallr probably wouldn’t notice one way or another and if his wife did she would be far too polite to insinuate the queen of Alfheim had had an affair with the newly crowned king of Jotunheim.

Thor and Boe might posture a bit, threaten to break his face for breaking her heart. But she’d been handling those two testosterone poisoning victims her whole life, she could distract them. Trying to find Boe a beau of his own would probably do the trick.

But that was only if she decided not to pursue her relationship with Loki which was becoming less and less likely. They made an excellent team. She loved Jotunheim. Its culture, its religion. It had been a part of her for a thousand years and she had slipped back into it with ease. Even Jana was making an effort to welcome her. They had been thrown into a war together and were coming out stronger on the other side.

He had one more chance to propose, almost certainly before she returned home. And as overwhelming as it felt, as much as it might shake the realms to their core, she was pretty confident she knew what her answer would be.


	26. Chapter 26

The post-coronation party lasted well into the night. Wine and ale flowed freely, long after the feast had been picked clean. If the attack from Sutur had thawed the relations between the various realms, the drinking and merrymaking had shattered them totally. Syn saw, with her own eyes, Vanir and Jotun teaching each other drinking songs and Dwarves and Alfans comparing jewels and metal work. There were no fights or brawls, despite the excessive number of warriors in the room. Though she imagined some would be waking up rather surprised by their bedfellows.

Most of the crowd had thinned out when she made one last circuit of the room before seeing herself to her rooms. A few of the Dwarf contingent had passed out in the corner and she and Mashira had a long conversation on whether or not it was less dignified to leave them there or find someone willing to carry them to their rooms. In the end, they decided to leave them where they were. Syn was fairly certain she'd read somewhere it was a sign of a good Dwarven party to wake up on the barroom floor.

She found Loki lounging on the floor by the doorway to the royal quarters, looking quite pleased with himself. "Are you drunk?" she asked him. They'd been separated an hour or two ago when her brother and Thor had insisted she help them remember the words to a bawdy war ballad she absolutely shouldn't know the words to.

"I am not," Loki said almost primly. "But I am in a very good mood."

That was probably a half a cup under drunk, but she'd take it. "And how does his Majesty feel on his second, official, day of being King?"

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, looking around the room. "Not appreciably different than I did the day before. Though I suppose that's to be expected."

"You have been king in action if not name for a long time," she agreed. Reaching down, she added, "Will you be hung over for our parley tomorrow?"

He took her hand and arranged his feet under himself, allowing her to haul him upright. "I'll have you know Jotuns do not get hung over. We handle our liquor like the warriors we are."

She was fairly certain that was a pointed jab at Thor, who had stumbled off to his rooms an hour ago, seeing double and flirting with one of Jana's hunters. Loki was currently swaying at least as much as the Asgardian king had been, though he'd never admit it. "Does the true warrior want an escort to his room?" she asked patiently. She was pretty sure there was no Jotun tradition that would make the king passing out in the hallway dignified.

He seemed to realize that, or at least how unsteady he was, because he nodded and said with exaggerated dignity, "That is permissible."

Shaking her head indulgently, she slid her arm around his waist and steered him through the doorway and down the hall to his quarters. "Why aren't you drunk?" he asked, sounding put out even as he slung an arm around her shoulders.

"Alfans hold their liquor like warriors," she teased him. "When we drink it."

"You didn't drink?" He sounded horrified, which made her laugh a little.

"It's usually a good idea for at least one host to say sober through the end of the party. You were the guest of honor and Mashira had earned a night off. The duty fell to me." They reached his room and she stopped, waiting expectantly. When he didn't let her go, still staring at her, she sighed and shoved the door open and hauled him inside.

"So you admit you were my co-host." He looked damn smug, even as she dumped him unceremoniously onto his bed.

Syn crossed her arms and shook her head again, half annoyed at the wave of affection she felt looking down at him. Rumpled and drunk and too cocky by half and she was still tempted to climb in bed with him. If they hadn't a morning of tricky political machinations planned she might have done it.

As it was, she reached down and covered him with one of the heavy furs piled at the end of his bed. "Yes, Loki," she said, pitching her voice to that of a patient teacher or mother. "I was your co host. I charmed your guests and steered conversations and kept an eye on the troublemakers. I made note of who was getting on with who and who might have a complaint in the morning. And it was as natural as breathing, as always."

This rushed confession was met with a rather undignified snore. She glanced up to find him fast asleep and couldn't help but chuckle. Clearly this was not the time for a heart to heart.

Bending, she kissed his forehead. "Sweet dreams, my love." He stirred and mumbled nonsense in his sleep. Straightening his covers once more, she turned and let herself out.

*

Those last three glasses of ale had been a bad idea, Loki realized as he and Syn rode out to their parley meeting the next morning. He had had a marvelous time at his coronation party, despite that last hour or so being rather hazy. He had no idea how he'd gotten to his room, though there were vague images of Syn's indulgent face and proclaiming himself a proper warrior. Hopefully he hadn't embarrassed himself too terribly.

Riding next to him, Syn kept giving him an amused smirk that made him wonder if his thoughts were somehow projecting themselves. "What?" he finally snapped irritably.

Smiling as if he'd just proven her point, she replied, "I knew I should have made you some tea before we headed out."

"I'm not hung over." He probably would have sounded more convincing if he'd been less petulant.

"Of course you aren't, dear."

They neared the spot Ymir had picked for the meeting and slowed their horses. He scanned the area and watched Syn do the same. It was an ideal spot for an ambush, with high hills on one side, dotted with caves. The best way in was a narrow canyon and a river with a rushing current cut off escape to the north.

"I don't like it," Loki commented conversationally.

"Either Ymir is an idiot or thinks we are," Syn agreed. "Still. Better not to underestimate him."

He nodded and slipped off the horses back. He reached up to help her and she settled her hands on his shoulders. Before hopping down, she leaned down and kissed his forehead. He felt a warm flush and the pounding headache he'd been refusing to admit he had dissipated.

Lifting her down from the horse, he smiled at her. "Thank you."

She smiled affectionately. "Next time just admit you're hung over."

"Of course I will, dear." He offered her his arm as they walked the few more meters to the spot that had been marked on the map.

There was a cave there, with a narrow, ragged opening, more of a fissure in the rock than a proper cave. It belched ominous smoke or steam, much like the vents that warmed the thermal springs.

Before he could comment on the atmosphere there was a cracking sound from somewhere in the fissure and a red-skinned Muslpelian he assumed was Ymir emerged.

He was shorter and stockier than Loki remembered Sutur to be. Shorter than Syn, best he could tell. Based on his entrance, they seemed to have been correct in guessing he had magic. Still, he was oddly average and unassuming looking. It was hard to believe he might be responsible for a an inter-realm war.

For a few moments, the three of them sized each other up. Then Syn said, in her haughtiness of tones, "You called the meeting, Ymir. What do you have to say?"

"The war was Surtur's idea," he said, all but blurting it out. "As soon as I got the invitation to the coronation he was making plans. I want peace with the other realms, like you." He took a shaky breath, seemingly to get himself together. "I called you here to get your help. As long as Surtur is alive, I'm his puppet. Help me assassinate him and I'll ally with you and the others. A untied realms, for the first time in millennia."

Loki studied him a moment, then looked at Syn. "What do you think?"

She tilted her head, looking thoughtful. So thoughtful, in fact, he knew it was an act. It took a tremendous amount of willpower not to smirk.

"I think he's lying," she said finally, looking back at Ymir with a smile. "Badly."

Fury darkened Ymir's features, then he smiled darkly and he lifted a fist over his shoulder. They all waited a few beats, until confusion and then panic had crossed Ymir's face, before Syn added, "I also think Jana and the warriors found the archers up in the caves."

If Loki lived ten thousand years he would never forget the way the king of Muspelheim's eyes bugged out when he realized he'd been had. Before Ymir could run away, Loki flicked out a hand and a line of ice daggers landed behind him. Ymir froze and, in his most pleasant voice, Loki said, "Care to try again?"

"The truth, this time," Syn added. "Or we'll start to get upset."

Ymir blew out a breath. Suddenly, he looked smaller and rather pathetic. "It was Surtur's idea," he said again, defensively. "All of it. Even this. He thought the coronation would be an opportunity to wipe out the realm leaders, take power for himself. When that failed he focused in on you two. Seemed to think if you were gone the rest of them wouldn't be able to rally. We could pick them off one by one."

"Surtur thinks rather highly of us," Loki commented. "I counted four archers as we rode in."

"I had six," Syn said.

He inclined his head to her, still focused on Ymir. "And now that you've failed, what do you suppose his next move will be?"

Ymir shook his head. "I don't know. He's. . . unpredictable. I don't think he's mad. But he's obsessed. With the war, with gaining power. I told you I was a puppet, I meant it. He never really stepped down from the throne, he just stepped into the shadows. So he could take you by surprise."

Pathetic had been the right word for it, Loki thought. A shadow of what he might have been, had he allowed Laufey to control him the way he had wanted. A weaker man, so desperate even for the mirage of power he was willing to accept a deal with the devil.

"Stay there," he ordered Ymir before gesturing to Syn. They turned their backs on the other man and took a few steps away from him to speak privately. Loki was sure that somewhere Jana and half a dozen warriors were watching them with arrows and spears pointed at Ymir. He was fairly confident Ymir was smart enough to know that, too. Attempting to get away would be very unwise.

"We need a plan," he said once they were far enough from Ymir to not be overheard.

Syn nodded, tapping her fingers on her thigh. "My first instinct would be to use him as a spy to Surtur, but there's no way he could handle that."

"Considering he crumbled like a snow sculpture in a heat wave at the slightest questioning? No." Loki glanced back at Ymir. "Neither does killing him outright feel very good."

To his surprise, she lifted an ambivalent shoulder. "He did plan to kill us."

That was a good point. "For now, it's probably best to keep him as a prisoner of war. Though that will unfortunately tell Surtur we're on to him."

"He had to know this was a possible outcome, sending Ymir here like this. If he thinks we're some masterminds of warfare then he'd have to assume we'd smell a trap and-" Syn broke off abruptly, eyes widening.

She whipped around to look at Ymir again. "If you're here, where is Surtur?"

Ymir's smile was wicked, and far more canny than his previous behavior might have predicted. "Probably sitting on the throne of Jotunheim as we speak."

For a moment, rage blinded Loki, though he wasn't sure who he was more angry at. Ymir and Surtur for setting the trap or himself for falling for it. This was the sort of thing he would have thought up, but they were so blinded by their previous successes they had accepted the meeting at face value. Now his home was under attack and he was hours away.

Lifting a hand, he sent a fistful of icy daggers into Ymir, then he gestured for Jana and the warriors to join them. They started appearing out of the caves before the Muspelian's body had hit the ground.

"What in the realms?" Jana asked when she reached them.

"It was a trick," Loki spat out. "To draw us away. The Muspelheim forces are at the capital."

Jana bit out a curse, looking around as if searching for something to hit. "It will be hours before we can get back there. Gods know what kind of slaughter we'll walk in on when we do."

Loki turned to Syn in the hope she might have some sort of solution, only to find her crouching next to Ymir. "What are you doing?" If she was about to heal him they needed to have some words.

"He has something I need," she replied, putting a hand on the dead man's chest. Her had began to glow, not the usual gold of her healing, but a brilliant scarlet red. The red seeped into her skin, outlining her veins starkly. 

Grimacing, she stood and turned back to them. "All right. Let's do this quickly."

"What are you-" Jana began, staring at Syn's affected hand.

"Just trust me. Everyone grab onto the person next to them."

After a moment's pause, the warriors did just that. Jana clapped a hand on Syn's shoulder, clearly unwilling to touch that hand. Syn reached out and curled a hand around Loki's. "We'll send someone for the horses later," she said.

"What?" Before he could fully process what she was saying, the ground seemed to slide out from beneath his feet. There was a vague sense of motion, a blur of colors and lights, and then their little circle was standing in the middle of his throne room, and not a canyon miles away.

He barely had time to steady himself before someone shrieked his name and Mashira flung herself into his arms. His arms wrapped around her, crushing her to his chest, relief flooding him. He realized the room was crowded with children and non-combatants.

"Good girl," he murmured. "Tell me what's happened."

Taking a shuddery breath, Masher released him and stepped back. "The Muspelheim forces attacked perhaps an hour after you and Syn left. They came out of the ground, from the lower tunnels, the way they did at the festival. The guard engaged and we pulled the non combatants into the inner rooms. The last report I got the main fight was in the marketplace, but it was going poorly for us. We were so unprepared and I didn't. . ."

"It's all right," he assured her. "Surtur outplayed us." He pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Stay here."

He turned to the warriors who'd come with him only to find them, and Syn, decked out in armor and weapons. A glance told him her arm was now normal. "When we've won the day, you'll explain how you did all of that?" When she had been teaching him magic she had had a much shorter range on object she could teleport and hadn't even attempted moving people, let alone ten at once.

She smiled sweetly and gestured, dressing him in his leathers, knives hanging from his belt. "Of course, darling."

He didn't believe that for a moment, but he intended to hold her to it. With a nod, he surveyed the faces of his warriors, seeing the same fury and determination he was feeling. A pep talk would likely be superfluous, so he just gestured to the door. "With me."

They gave a chorus of agreement and filed in after him as he walked to the door.

The open marketplace was as chaotic and bloody as any battlefield Loki had ever seen. He lost track of his sister and Syn almost immediately, but was heartened to spot Thor and Boe in the midst of the fray, as well as a collection of Dwarven warriors. He sent a line of daggers into the Muspelians closest to them and got a wave from Boe. "Welcome brother!" he called. "About time you joined the fun."

He was going to need to interrogate Syn about that "brother" when this was all over. For now, he needed to focus. Surtur was in this mess somewhere and Loki intended to personally welcome him to his realm.

Perhaps it was the addition of fresh warriors. Perhaps his appearance raised morale. Perhaps Mashira's reports had just been pessimistic. Whatever the case, the tide of battle began to turn. The Muspelheim soldiers had not expected much, if any resistance, relying on the element of surprise. The guards and visiting warriors had been enough to throw them off. Loki and the others had them running scared.

He fought side by side with some of the other rulers. Boe was a natural with the sword and Thor's hammer was a thing of wonder. Though he did have to duck a few times for fear of getting hit with it himself. Jana ran past at one point, swinging her halberd and cackling madly. His sister did love a good battle.

"Have you seen Surtur?" he asked Boe when they both had a moment to breathe.

"Early on," he confirmed with a nod. "He was staying to the back, letting his men do the work."

Of course. Nothing about this mess struck him as the work of a king who fought from the front. "Well, then. Perhaps I should invite him to the fray."

Boe grinned at him and nodded. "I have your back."

He could get used to having a brother. He nodded in return and started to press forward into the mass of people. His goal now was movement, not battle, so he ducked past enemies and dodged attacks, slicking the ground with ice to send his opponents sprawling.

True to Boe's observation, Loki spotted Surtur at the back of the room, observing the battle like it was a spectator sport. That, as much as anything else, spurred Loki onward. Say what you would about Laufey, he'd never been afraid to get his hands dirty in war.

"Surtur!" He sent a flurry of ice daggers at the other king, more to get his attention than in the hope of doing him any harm. Sure enough, Surtur dodged the volley neatly. It put him off balance, though, allowing Loki to land a very satisfying punch to the face.

The Museplian king spit blood and grinned. "Laufey's son. I knew Ymir wouldn't be able to hold you for long. Was hoping you'd make it back to see your kingdom's downfall."

Loki twirled his knives. "My kingdom is doing just fine." Surtur swung his sword and he countered it with crossed daggers, the black metal sliding his steel. He pushed the other man back and attacked himself.

It occurred to him, as they danced between other combatants, dodging and attacking in equal measure, that perhaps Surtur had not hung back from the fray because he was a coward, but to ensure he would be fresh and unfatigued to fight Loki when he made his appearance. The man was older than him, but a seasoned warrior, and they were an even match.

It helped, he supposed, that they both fought a bit dirty. No one trained by Laufey obeyed the rules of civilized combat. Surtur, unfortunately, had a lot more experience cheating than he did. Loki was so busy watching his sword and hands that he forgot to keep an eye on his feet. A well timed kick to the ankle sent Loki to the floor and at least one of his knives skittering across the stone.

Surtur loomed over him, grinning triumphantly. He had his sword lifted above his head, ready to strike, when arrows appeared in his throat and arm, one after the other. He staggered, gagging, sword falling from his hands as he fumbled at the arrow in his neck. Another arrow stabbed through his hand.

With a moment of concentration, Loki formed an ice blade as long and sharp as the sword Surtur had wielded. Then he stood and drove it through Surtur's abdomen.


	27. Chapter 27

The storybooks never talked about what happened after the great battles. The good prince defeated the evil wizard, the people cheered, happy endings all around. There was no mention of the remaining skirmishes, the clean up of bodies and the organization of prisoners and casualties.

Syn supposed twelve pages of logistics and grim depictions of cleaning blood and viscera off the ground weren't exactly the stuff of legends. It was the stuff of reality, though, and needed to be dealt with.

The Muspelian warriors did not have any reason to fight once Surtur had been run through. Both their leaders were dead, Jotunheim was clearly not falling and the other realms were sided against them. Continuing the invasion could lead to a Pyrhicc victory at best, and more likely a complete slaughter. Fortunately for everyone, the majority of the fighters recognized that. Some surrendered. Some of them retreated, of course, running back into the tunnels to the portals they had used to infiltrate the palace. Some of them got lost in those tunnels. Most of those were found.

Syn and Mashira took care of the injured and dead, triaging as best they could and transporting them to the infirmaries. Loki, Thor, and Boe dealt with the prisoners. Jotunheim had dungeons, though not enough for the amount of prisoners they'd attained, nor did they have the resources to guard them all if they did find space for them.

A meeting was held between the rulers to determine what to do with them all. Syn was unable to attend, but Boe gave her the short version. Neither Surtur nor Ymir had heirs, leaving Muspelheim without a ruler and a good chunk of its warriors being held as POWs. No one wanted to empty Muspelheim of all their men of fighting age, nor did anyone want to run the lava pit of a realm as a subsidiary of their own. Boe had interviewed several of the lieutenants and generals among the prisoners and earmarked a few that, while not on the verge of mutiny, certainly hadn't shared Surtur's passion for conquest. They were being sent back home to rebuild the Muspelian government. The remaining POWs would be split among the Jotunheim and Asgardian dungeons and the mines of the Dwarves. In a month or so, a contingent of delegates from the allied realms would visit Muspelheim to see how the new government was shaping up and decide when and how to release the prisoners.

On Syn's end, things were both simpler and more exhausting. Dead was dead, whether ally or enemy. Muspelian warriors were sent back through the tunnel portals, Jotun warriors were identified by family members and taken to prepare for their funerals. The injured were more complicated. The Jotun healers were skilled, but overwhelmed, so Syn spent some long nights helping stabilize the worst of the injuries. When she wasn't healing she was eating whatever food someone had handed her, or sleeping the sleep of the dead. She hadn't seen Loki since she'd sunk four arrows into Surtur when he was about to kill him.

Funerals in Jotunheim were usually small, private affairs, but given the number of dead and the circumstances of the deaths it had been decided to make the lighting of the pyres a more public event, so that everyone could come together to mourn. The spreading of the ashes would be done privately at discretion of the mourning families. Mashira helped organize the service, and managed to hold it off until almost all of the injured were healed and Syn had enough time - and sleep - to attend as well.

Black was the color of mourning in Jotunheim, to represent the ashes of the pyre. In Alfheim it was red. She and Boe were probably going to stand out like sore thumbs, but wearing black just seemed odd and needlessly grim.

She found herself time to spare before the ceremony began and decided to spend it in a temple. A mass funeral seemed to be a good time to leave an offering for Lyra. She'd been rather busy the last few days, after all.

Technically, she didn't have the right to use the royal temple, but it did happen to be the one closest to her rooms and the likeliest to be empty, given the rather lax religious beliefs of Loki and his sisters.

She placed two pieces of blade fruit and a cup of wine at the goddess's feet. She wasn't entirely sure what or who she was praying for. The dead would be no less dead, the grieving would likely not be comforted. But it seemed worthwhile to show the goddess of life and death some respect at a time like this. 

Maybe she was praying for the living and not the dead.

There was a soft shuffle of footsteps behind her and she knew who it was before she turned around.

"I knew you'd be here," Loki said.

"I did not expect to see you," she admitted, turning to smile at him. He was dressed in traditional Jotun robes, black with no embroidery or adornment. Save for a gold pin with her family's insignia on it.

Noticing her regard, he glanced down at it. "You know, I'm starting to think that thing means more than you admitted to me. Boe has been calling me 'brother' since he saw it."

Her brother had never been one for subtlety. Or to pass up a chance to tease. "All the noble houses on Alfheim have sigils. It's common for families to trade sigils to indicate a new alliance or trade deal. At formal events you will see well connected members with dozens of sigils. If a house without a sigil is given one they are considered an. . . extension of the noble's house. You're royalty but, technically, you don't have a sigil. It would be traditional to consider you and your family allied with ours. Calling you brother or cousin would be appropriate."

Loki nodded and stepped past her, to Tanet's shrine, placing a gold coin at his feet. After a moment of silence, he took a deep breath and turned back to her. "Syn-"

"Marry me," she said before he could get out another word. He stopped short, mouth open, eyes startled. If she spent the rest of her life capable of shocking him into silence she'd be a happy woman indeed.

When the moment stretched out she added, "Better hurry, Loki, Alfans only ask once."

His mouth opened and closed a few times before he stepped closer. "Do you mean it?"

"I do." She tipped her head back to look at him. "I think it will be difficult. I don't know how your people will react. Or how mine will. I don't know what the future will look like. But I do know that I love you. That we are a good team, good partners. I think we'll be good rulers. And that's enough."

Without another word, he cupped her face in his hands and kissed her. She lifted her arms and wrapped them around his neck, cupping the back of his head. In his enthusiasm, he lifted her off her feet. Somewhere, she imagined, Lyra and Tanet were probably laughing.

When he gave her a moment to breathe she murmured against his mouth, "Loki, darling, you haven't said yes yet."

"Yes," he said immediately. "Will you marry me?"

She grinned. "Yes," she said softly. Which prompted him to kiss her again, in a manner entirely inappropriate for a religious shrine.

They parted and he set her back on her feet. "Much as I would love to drag you back to my rooms to celebrate this momentous decision," he said, stroking her hair back. "We have a funeral to attend. After that, however. . ."

"After that," she told him. "We need to tell Mashira she has to plan an inter realm wedding between two realm leaders. Something that has never happened before, by the way. I checked."

He sighed and tipped his head back. "I presume elopement isn't a feasible option."

"No," she said, shaking her head slowly. "Though depending on how Mashira takes the news, we may be planning some more funerals."

Loki chuckled and tucked her hand into the curve of his arm. "What are Alfan funerals like? I don't know if you ever mentioned."

"We have crypts, tombs," she explained as they walked towards the surface. "Sometimes people who work or live on the water will be buried at sea. It's tradition for loved ones to leave locks of hair or cloths stained with blood in the crypt with the deceased. So that part of them is buried with their loved one. It's supposed to help the grieving process, like you're killing off the part of yourself that belonged to the deceased."

"That seems rather grim."

"Some would say burning your dead is grim." She shrugged. "Customs are personal. They make sense to the people who hold them, and see bizarre to outsiders."

He smiled and looked down at her. "How many such customs do you think we'll trip over in the years to come?"

Syn laughed a little. "Dozens. Hundreds. Every holiday, every tradition. Starting with the wedding. Wed _dings_ , most likely. Plural."

"Jotun marriage ceremonies involve a symbolic battle with sticks."

Regrettably, she had no idea if he was serious or not. "Alfans tie their wrists together for a night."

"Yours sounds more fun."

She laughed again. "Asgardian weddings take days. So we should both count our blessings."

Loki pushed open the door that lead to the surface. "I will warn Jana not to make Thor her new bride."

The crowd was already gathered, the pyres built and lined up, family members ready with the torches. Heads turned as Syn and Loki emerged from the caves. Her hand was still tucked into his elbow. It was not their first public announcement of their relationship. The last few weeks had been filled with them. But the war was over now, she and the rest of the realm leaders were set to go home in the next day or two. That she was still on his arm, here at a public funeral long after they had any reason to continue to show solidarity. It was a statement. A loud and important one.

She caught her brother's eye in the crowd, and the warm smile he gave her in return. The faces of the Jotuns were harder to read. Confusion, mistrust, those were there. But there were smiles, as well. A few nods of what she hoped was approval. It certainly wasn't universal, but it was enough. It was a start.

They walked to the front of the crowd, closest to the pyres. Loki gave a nod to the priestess of Lyra and she began the invocation to begin the funeral ceremony. Syn leaned into Loki's side, weaving her fingers with his, and listened to the prayer and the whistle of the wind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my gods it's done.
> 
> *pours one out for the fans who didn't make it*
> 
> Thank you all for sticking with me this long. It was a struggle at the end, but I'm glad I did it.


End file.
